The Art of Staying Good
by SunSpell80
Summary: "The happy lives Victors live…it's not real, Finnick. They get the money and the fame but they're all broken. The only ones who even seem slightly okay with it are the most ruthless and horrible Victors: the killing machines. And if I couldn't do it, you definitely can't. Because you're too good." How Finnick Odair remains good in a cruel world.
1. Part One

A/N: So I planned on writing the next chapter for Pawn. I really did. I had a total of twenty-four hours in the car in which to do so. But I just saw Catching Fire last Saturday and I was compelled to re-read the last two books of the trilogy. It had been a while since I read the books and somehow I completely forgot that Finnick was my favorite character! I think it was because I only read them once and I zoomed through them because I was so eager to find out how they ended. So first I was heartbroken by the movie where Sam Claflin played Finnick so wonderfully, then my heart was absolutely destroyed by Mockingjay and I was absolutely filled with _all _of the Finnick feels. There were too many and I had to get them out, so I wrote this.

Obviously I let it get a little out of hand.

There may or may not be a second part to this. The end was sort of a natural stopping point, given that it was five years after his Games (and five years before the Quarter Quell). Also (I'm not going to give away spoilers) because it is an obvious turning point in his life.

* * *

Disclaimer: I only own a few OC characters I created to fill in the gaps of the story. But Finnick, Mags, Annie, President Snow and Caesar belong to Suzanne Collins (as does the entire world this is set in).

Rated M because this is Finnick and his life is so sad :(

* * *

The Art of Staying Good - Part One

* * *

The first time Finnick met Mags, it was clear she was utterly unimpressed with him.

He was in primary school at the time, before Training, before he even had to think about the Games. He _did _think a little about them, but not in the way the other boys did. His brother Myron was in his late teens and the top of his training class. Some day soon he would volunteer and would bring honor and wealth to their family, and glory to District Four. The closer that day came, the more excited everyone became. District Four hadn't had a Victor in years. They had the unique problem of being known as a Career district but not receiving the same level of training as Districts One and Two did. In all the years Finnick had watched the Games, the District Four Tributes typically survived the Cornucopia and allied with the other Careers, only to be killed off either in fights against other Tributes and alliances, or by the other Careers once it was only them left.

Myron promised not to do that, though. He was tough, the strongest fighter in District Four and he could survive anything on his own. Myron would not be fodder for the other Careers. He was going to be a Victor.

Finnick, however, was not going to be one. He was going to be put through Training like everyone else still, because if he ever was Reaped and nobody volunteered – sometimes that happened, rarely – he needed to be prepared. It was going to stretch their resources down to the bone for the one year they were both in Training, but if Myron won the Games they would never have to want for anything ever again.

Still, everyone knew Myron was the champion of the brothers. He was hailed everywhere he went, already treated like a Victor. And Finnick? Well, he was 'Myron's little brother.' The little Odair, the cute Odair. Old women pinched his cheeks and said, "Oh, aren't you just the sweetest thing?"

Nobody ever pinched Myron's cheeks.

And Finnick pretended to be fine with it all, except he wasn't. On their kitchen door where their mother marked their growth, Myron's marks were always so far above Finnick's. Sometimes in his dreams he was standing in the Capitol with the Victor's crown on his head, waving at the crowd as they chanted _his _name. Not Myron's. He wasn't interested in the violence or the thrill of victory. He just wanted to be noticed, to be seen for _him_.

That was probably why he accepted the dare.

The Victors' Village was a place of wealth and mystery. District Four had quite a few Victors – not as many as Districts One and Two, but more than the other Districts – and they all seemed to keep to themselves, in their own private clique. Some of them were rather normal and you'd see them on the street, buying fruit from the market and a few would even wave. Some of them were bizarre, and you'd only see them up on the stage for special events, all twitchy and nervous. And some of them were so completely private and mysterious that the District Four children had no choice but to make up stories about them.

One of those stories was about the old woman who won the Games back when they were first beginning. She hardly mentored anymore, never came out of her house, barely even showed up to the special events. She was so small and frail the only possible explanation for how she won was magic. Yarvis Tidewell was convinced that she was the old witch from a tale he'd heard when he was small about a witch who grew a magic plant that could cure death. Finnick and the other boys had scoffed, because there was no such thing as magic, and Finnick was old enough and heartbroken enough to know that nothing could cure death.

They'd teased Yarvis about it, but he was too clever and too much of a bully to let anything they said get to him. Instead, he turned it around. "Well, if you guys don't believe, me why don't you break into her garden and prove it to me?"

That brought nervous laughs and some roughhousing. Ray Donavan raised his hand and said, "I volunteer…Gregor as Tribute!" He pushed Gregor Underwood forward, who stumbled as everyone laughed.

"Odair should do it." Yarvis insisted, his tone jesting but his smile mean. "Come on, you've got the genes of a Victor, right?"

"Yeah, Finnick, show us you're more than just a pretty face!"

And that's how Finnick ended up breaking into Mags's garden.

It was stupid, of course. He _was _more than a pretty face, so he knew that. But this could be his chance, his opportunity… and if there was a magic plant that could cure death, he'd sure like to know about it.

The Village was quiet and still when he climbed over the wall separating it from the rest of the District. He couldn't help but gape at some of the things he saw in the window. Crystal vases, huge projection screens, and beautiful china. They'd had a set of china once, given to his parents as a wedding present from his mother's grandmother. They'd had to sell it after Finnick's dad died, and he still remembered his mother crying harder than she'd ever seen her when she sold the china. He'd thought it strange she seemed more upset about losing the china than their dad, but Myron explained that sometimes people get so deeply sad all their energy goes toward breathing and walking and simply have none left for tears.

The house was the smallest and shabbiest of the Victors' houses. There were nice things in the windows like all the other houses, but they were old things, not new and extravagant. No, the most extravagant thing about the house was the garden, where beautiful flowers and ripe fruits were in full blossom. Finnick's stomach growled. He'd tagged along with the catch that morning and had forgotten to get breakfast before school. He recognized strawberries on the other side and made his way over. Fresh fruit was rare in District Four, since their whole focus was on the ocean. Most of their fruits were imports: dried and expensive. There was a local fruit market, but every time he went nothing good was in season. His mom liked to call him "Finicky Finnick" and it was true. He was picky, dreadfully picky.

But he loved strawberries.

Before he knew it he was stuffing them into his mouth, the red juice smashing against his lips. The taste was sweet, almost as sweet as the sugar cubes his dad used to sneak him behind his mother's stern eye. It was pure bliss and for a moment Finnick wondered if maybe strawberries were the fruit that cured death.

He heard the sound of a door opening and froze.

The old woman was standing on the porch, one hand on her cane and the other on her hip. Her mouth was drawn into a firm line. Finnick knew he should run: he _could _run, there was no way she could keep up with him. But her gaze kept him frozen there.

"Are you starving, boy?"

It took him a few moments to understand what she was saying. She was missing quite a lot of teeth.

"No." He replied automatically, and then looked down at his red-stained fingers and fingernails in shame.

"Then why are you in my garden?"

Something about her tone, or her face, made it impossible to lie. "It was a dare." He blurted out, wondering if she really was a witch to pull these truths out of him.

"You were dared to sneak into my garden and eat my strawberries." Her voice was flat and surprisingly full of a sort of wry humor.

"No, I was dared to sneak into your garden. I just love strawberries." The words sounded stupid and greedy as he said them and he could tell by the way she shook her head she was totally unimpressed with that answer.

"Go, before my neighbors call the Peacekeepers."

_That _got Finnick up and scrambling. Neither he nor his brother had ever gotten into trouble with the Peacekeepers and he did not want to be the first one. Not because he was scared of the Peacekeepers per se. No, the thought of his mother's disappointment was much more terrifying.

He made a beeline straight for her garden wall, even though leaving that way would make him have to walk all the way around the Village. Before he climbed it, he paused and looked back.

"Is it true that you have a plant that can cure death?"

She surprised him then by laughing sadly.

"If only, child. If only."

* * *

He didn't see Mags again until a year and a half later, at the Reaping. He still had two more years before his first Reaping, so he was standing off to the side with his other friends from Training. As it turned out, Finnick was reasonably good at Training, though not as good as Myron. Never as good as Myron.

It was Myron's sixth Reaping and everyone knew he was going to volunteer. They were all waiting with bated breath for the boy's name to be called, just to hear Myron's strong voice call out in triumph. It was an incredible relief for all the boys that year, knowing they had a free pass. Finnick craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Myron. He seemed nervous, tugging on his tie and adjusting it. That wasn't right. Myron was never nervous. Unsettled, Finnick turned his gaze up to a smaller stage to the side, where the other Victors were sitting. Even some of the ones who managed to get out of coming the other times were there, probably because they heard District Four might have a Victor this time. The old lady was sitting at the back and Finnick was startled when she caught his eye. He was just starting to wonder if she remembered him when she very distinctively winked.

He looked away quickly, hot embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"You ready for this?" Whispered Trisha Walden, who was sitting next to him. She had been his best friend since Training started. Most of the other boys made fun of him for being friends with a girl, but Finnick liked Trisha. She wasn't outwardly aggressive like the other girls in Training, just quietly strong. Finnick liked to think he was the same way, so their friendship came easily and naturally.

Finnick nodded, even though he wasn't. Myron was strong, capable, the best District Four had seen in decades. But what if someone else was stronger? What if the Tributes from District One were the best _they'd _seen in decades? Ever since their dad died, Myron had been obsessed with becoming a Victor. They'd been struggling – not like those in the poorer districts, but they were definitely poor by District Four standards. Myron was going to win the Games and change that. But if he didn't win…

He was gripped by horror then. Myron couldn't not win. Because the world couldn't exist without Myron. Myron had to win. He had to. His family relied on him, needed him, and couldn't survive without him. Couldn't _breathe _without him. He was fighting to get back to his family, so he would win.

But there would be twenty-three other Tributes fighting to get back to their families.

The girl's name was called and nobody volunteered. No one else in District Four stood a chance against Myron, to go as his District partner would be a death-sentence. The girl who walked onstage seemed about fifteen and Finnick thought he'd seen her at the Training School. At least she'd probably last the first day.

Then the boy's name was called.

Finnick recognized his name. He wasn't in Training, but he was two years ahead of Finnick in school. Twelve. He was twelve.

Now was the time for Myron to say something something. Finnick should have heard Myron's voice calling out: _I volunteer!_

But the words never came.

Myron did not volunteer. Instead he turned away as the boy was lead toward his death.

In the entire time Finnick had watched the Reaping, District Four always had at least one volunteer. People wanted the chance at honor, at a better life. But no one was prepared this year. Myron was going to volunteer. That was the end of it.

The Games that year were torture. Their entire District watched the little boy be paraded around the Capitol, dressed up in fancy suits and then stabbed through the gut at the Cornucopia. The girl lasted a little longer, making an alliance with the Careers before she fell off a cliff on Day five. The entire time, Myron didn't look away from the screen. He watched as the girl from nine won and kept shaking his head and muttering.

"I could have beaten her. I could have beaten her. I could have beaten her…"

Once the Games ended and school resumed, Finnick didn't want to go back. He was sick to his stomach at the thought of the whispers and jeers. But he had to go, now more than ever.

It was just as bad as he imagined. People stared and pointed. A crying girl shoved him down and told him it was _his _fault her brother her dead. No, it was his brother's fault, but no one saw him as an individual person from Myron. He was Myron's little brother, clinging on to him like a Remora to a Shark.

The shark was gone now and Finnick had no clue how to survive without him.

His 'friends' ambushed him at lunch and dragged him out back where all 'secret' fights took place. Only they were not secret because all the teachers knew yet did nothing to stop it. They were training children to kill one another. They'd be fools not to let them practice.

He was bleeding and his leg hurt like somebody grabbed it and twisted it way too far. The left side of his face felt numb as blood dripped down into his eye and Finnick knew he definitely didn't look cute now. Other kids gathered to see the fight – which was more of a beat-down – and he could see Trish clenching her fists tightly.

"You're just cowards, you and your brother!" Yarvis taunted him, kicking him in the back.

Finnick coughed and rolled over. Everything hurt like hell but he managed to force a smirk onto his face. "I'm sorry, it's three against one so who's the coward here?"

The other two backed up and Yarvis snarled. "I bet you were happy he didn't volunteer, weren't you? You probably asked him not to! Poor little baby Finnie, didn't want to be left alone after Daddy died-"

Myron always talked about how when he fought, he lost himself. That he forgot everything, what he'd had for breakfast, his grade on his history quiz, even that Dad was dead. His mind honed in on every movement his opponent made, exactly where he had to grab, slash or stab to disable them. Movement, muscles and the sound of bones cracking were the only things that mattered. Finnick asked him where the strength came from and Myron explained that it was anger. "I'm always angry," He told Finnick one day when they were out on _Calypso_, the boat Dad's former crew and Myron's current crew used_. _"I'm angry that Dad's dead, I'm angry he left us poor. But you can't fish angry. You can't be in school angry. You can only fight angry."

As Finnick's fist connected with Yarvis's jaw, he understood.

* * *

The Odair name may have been tarnished, but after the Games their wealth began to rise. Their mom no longer had to pay for Myron's training and Myron threw himself into his fishing. They still couldn't buy fancy things, but sometimes there was left over money for treats. Whenever his mother gave him a few coins to pick out a sweet from the market, Finnick always chose sugar-cubes. The lady at the stall warned him they would rot his teeth out, but Finnick waved her off with a bright smile.

He was starting to figure out that he could get away with a lot if he simply smiled. Even more if that smile was accompanied with a good joke. Unlike the other boys he never got into trouble with his Trainers. He would just frown with his lips pushed out ever so slightly, tilt his eyebrows and make his eyes as big as possible. Trish liked to call it his "Puppy-dog face" but even she wasn't immune. He would crack a joke that was out of line and she would turn away and ignore him, because she knew if she caught a glimpse of his face she would melt. The teasing about the two of them grew worse from his other friends. And though he always waved it off and said they were just old friends, sometimes he did wonder how her lips might feel against his. She was the daughter of a politician and every part of her was smooth: he was a fisherman's boy who was chapped from a life at sea. In the end these were just musings and Finnick had no time to waste on fantasies.

Because Finnick was going to volunteer for the Games.

That had become his goal, his mantra since his fight with his former friends. He would prove that he was brave, braver than his brother. This was no longer about money. This was about pride.

He didn't tell anyone. He simply practiced until his body hurt, did extra exercises outside of Training like Myron used to. By the time he was five years into Training, no one in his age group wanted to fight him. When Myron was fourteen no one in the entire school wanted to fight him, but Finnick couldn't compare himself to his brother anymore. Because that would lead to inevitable questions, questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

The night before Finnick's third Reaping, Myron came into his room. He had shaven his beard for the Reaping, but there was no way to shave off the beer-belly he'd accumulated in the last four years. When he sat down on Finnick's bed, the springs squeaked loudly.

"Are you going to volunteer?"

His voice was gruff and harsh from lack of use. Finnick looked up on him in surprise.

"Of course not." Only the craziest Tributes volunteered young. The smart ones waited until they were older, bigger and stronger.

"Not this year, you mean." Myron corrected him. "But you're going to, aren't you?"

Finnick looked down at his sock-covered feet. "I don't see how that's your business." He meant for it to come off sharp and strong, but he just sounded whinny and petulant.

"Finn, do you know why I didn't volunteer?" Finnick shook his head. He didn't want to hear this, but something inside him said that he needed to. Myron sighed deeply. "I re-watched some of the Games the night before. And I watched the Victory Tours and the Recaps and I realized something."

Finnick looked up from his feet. "What?" He whispered.

"That the happy lives Victors live…it's not real, Finnick. They get the money and the fame but they're all _broken_. The smiles they put on afterward are fake, trying to mask the horror of what they've seen and done. The only ones who even seem slightly okay with it are the most ruthless and horrible Victors: the killing machines. And I realized I couldn't do it." He breathed in heavily. "And if I can't, you definitely can't Finn."

All of a sudden Finnick felt defensive. He stood up and towered over Myron from all his height of five foot six. "What's that supposed to mean?" He demanded. "You think I'm not as good as you? I might not be as big and as strong, but I work harder than you _ever _did and I'm braver than you _ever _were."

He expected Myron to yell back, to fight and channel the anger that had been dwelling inside of him for four years. Instead, Myron gave him a sad smile. "I know that. But you're also _better _than I ever was, or ever will be. You've always been a sweet kid, and I don't want them to take that away from you."

Finnick thought of beating Yarvis's face in. "I'm not that good."

"Do you remember when Millie died?" Finnick nodded, because of course he did. Millie had been their dog and his best friend in the world up until he was six. That was when she became sick and stopped being able to run around or even move anymore. Their dad came home with a syringe and told them that it was medicine so that Millie wouldn't be in any pain anymore. It was medicine that would send her to heaven. "You were just a little kid and even though you didn't know anything about death you were so scared of it. And yet you were adamant about staying with her and holding her until she stopped breathing. Because as scared as you were, you said that Millie had to be even more scared and she would need someone to hold her until the pain was gone." Myron's voice was choked up and Finnick was shocked to hear him crying. "You're _good, _Finn. Don't let anyone tell you anything else."

Looking back on that moment, Finnick had to wonder if Myron was psychic, because those were exactly the words he would cling to for the next ten years of his life.

* * *

The Reaping was always filled with nervous anticipation, but Finnick wasn't scared. There were older boys who were much more prepared, ones who would leap at the opportunity to be a Tribute. He wondered if he would be one of them in a few more years. Yesterday, he would have known the answer right away. After Myron's talk, he wasn't so sure.

The girl Tribute was called and Finnick hardly even heard the name before a loud voice declared, "I volunteer!" It was Yvonne Ramsey, of the toughest and strongest girls in District Four. She strode up to the front triumphantly, sneering at one of the other girls she had beaten out.

The boys were next. Finnick felt that familiar shiver down his spine he had gotten the past two Reapings. But it was silly because even if his name were called, someone would volunteer.

"Finnick Odair!" Dora Hensburry announced. Momentary panic seized him. _It's okay, it's okay_, he tried to calm himself. _Someone else will volunteer. Someone always volunteers. _

But there was silence.

In a moment of horror, Finnick realized that it was the same sort of silence that accompanied Myron's last Reaping. No one was going to volunteer.

"Finnick Odair!" Shrilled Dora and he wanted to throw up at the sound. "Finnick, where are you?" She teased in a singsong voice. Nobody laughed, but Finnick felt himself shoved forward from behind.

He walked to the front and looked out at his district. Darla was going on about odds and glory and all that nonsense, and Yvonne was eyeing him like a piece of meat, but none of that registered with him.

He was too busy staring out at the faces of his district, filled with horror at the realization that they'd purposefully, vindictively, betrayed him.

* * *

He and Yvonne sat silently on the train. She was rolling a butter-knife between her fingers and he was certain she was strategizing. She hadn't said anything to him about an alliance yet which meant she thought he was not worth allying with.

Sadly, it was true. Finnick couldn't remember the last time anyone under sixteen won the Games.

The compartment door opened and Finnick jerked up. Two people walked into the room. The first was Bruce Kwalski, whose hand-to-hand combat and spear throwing skills made him a sought-after Mentor. The other…

Finnick's face turned red as he recognized the other Victor. It was the woman who caught him eating her strawberries.

"Welcome Tributes." Bruce began pompously. "My name is Bruce, this is Mags, and we will be your mentors."

_Mags_, Finnick stored away for future use. He glanced at her, once again wondering if she remembered him.

Once again, she winked.

For some odd reason, this made him feel better.

"Now, do you two want separate training or combined training?" Before Bruce could fully get the words out of his mouth, Yvonne answered.

"Separate." She spared Finnick a disdainful glance and he met her gaze evenly. He may have been young and inexperienced, but if she came across him in the arena she'd be surprised to learn he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Bruce nodded, like he was expecting this all along. He probably was. "Right then, we'll split up the mentoring. Finnick, you'll be working with me. Yvonne-"

"Are you serious?" Yvonne blurted out, looking at Mags in disbelief. "_You're _going to train the kid and I get stuck with the old lady? I thought you wanted one of your Tributes to _win_?"

Finnick expected Mags to say something to this, but she just gave Yvonne an amused smile. Bruce, on the other hand, was irritated. "You'd do well to remember you're talking to a Victor," He told her, though Finnick could tell his defense was slightly forced, as if he agreed with Yvonne deep down. "Show some respect."

Yvonne backtracked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but this is my life on the line here. And I just think with my strength and abilities I would be more suited to pair up with you, Bruce. It would be the best combination and our District's best chance of bringing home a Victor."

"Well, our job as mentors is to make sure everyone deserves a fighting chance." Bruce said awkwardly. "So Mags can help you with survival, and I can help Finnick with his strength."

He didn't have to say that Finnick would need it. Aside from Mags, he was the smallest one in the room.

Finnick found his voice. "Well, I don't care what mentor I get. I'll just win by blinding my opponents with my dazzling good looks and charming smile." He gave them the biggest, cheekiest grin he could.

There was an odd sound and everyone turned to see Mags laughing. "I'll take the boy." She told Bruce, waving him off like he was a fly. "You can have the girl."

Yvonne smirked in triumph, but something about Mags's gaze told Finnick he hadn't made a mistake.

* * *

Finnick loved many things. He loved the ocean first, his family second, then possibly sweets, and laughter and friendship. But what he loved above all else was being proven right.

Mags was an extraordinary wealth of information. She may have won the Games over fifty years before, but she had mentored nearly a third of them since. She went over the best strategies for every different kind of arena: how to get water if it was a desert, what plants to avoid if it was a jungle, and not to trust any sort of water without testing it first. They played memory games with different food sources and he learned that oftentimes the difference between what was nutritious and what was deadly was a simple as a slightly smaller leaf.

She also was very clear with him from the beginning: his fighting skills were good, but not enough for him to win.

"Sponsors." She told him on the first night. "You need sponsors and you can get them. You are very friendly and very pretty." He chuckled at that. Normally such a comment would have made him feel uncomfortable, but she flicked him on the nose instead of pinching his cheeks so he found he was more than okay with her teasing. "You are also young, so I think we should portray you as a charming young fisherman's boy. Be fun, likeable, and funny."

"So what you're saying is be myself?" Finnick teased her right back.

She ruffled his hair. "Yes, but be careful. You're happy to be here. You wanted to be selected. Being in the Capitol is a dream come true. Make the audience want nothing more than for you to get out of the arena so they can continue to be blessed with your presence. Make them love you."

She told him to be sweet and innocent. Playful – but innocent. So needless to say Mags was not happy when she saw that his and Yvonne's stylists put them in a mermaid and merman costume. Finnick didn't see the problem. During the summer he spent a considerable amount of time with his shirt off whether he was fishing or just playing around in the water, so he wasn't enormously modest. It was a good thing, because there was no room for self-consciousness with this outfit. The tail was skin-tight and trickled away into nothing but pasted-on scales over his hips ("To make it look more real!" His stylist had said enthusiastically) and his chest was completely bare. None of that bothered him. What _did _bother him was how he could barely stand up in the costume, let alone move; his feet were so tightly bound together. He had to hop ridiculously while being supported on either side by Mags and his stylist.

All the while, Mags was spitting teeth at his stylist.

"Fourteen years old – just a boy!" She hissed. "And you have him wearing next to nothing."

"Both he and the female Tribute are very attractive, I was certain you would want to use that to your advantage!" His stylist fought back. "Sex sells in the Capitol, that's the best way to get sponsors."

Finnick felt his face go red. Sex? He didn't know anything about sex, other than tales of fumbles in secret caves by the shore his brother had shared. There had been a pregnancy scare with one of Myron's girlfriends and – after beating Myron with a spoon – their mother turned on Finnick and made him swear to never so much as touch a girl unless he was prepared to support her. Finnick, who had been nine, promised readily. He'd wait until he was fully-grown and in love.

Therefore it was something that was probably never going to happen.

_Poor little Finnie, died without ever being kissed._

Mags was shaking and furious, he could tell in the way she was holding his arm strongly – not harshly, or painfully, just strongly to assert her presence. "It sells? The last time I checked, it was illegal to sell a fourteen year old boy."

The stylist gaped at her. "I don't mean – it's an expression! You've been a mentor for years, you know what I'm saying."

Mags sighed long and heavy. Gently she reached out and turned Finnick's face toward her. He was confused and more than a little frightened, yet somehow her touch brought him comfort. "We're going to have to change strategies." She told him heavily. "You can't act innocent in that get-up, you'll look like a scared little boy. You have to milk it."

"Sell it." Piped in the stylist.

Mags glared at him. "Fine, sell it. Don't let them see that you're uncomfortable, act unashamed. We'll talk more afterward."

She helped him into the chariot. Yvonne was standing there, next-to naked as well, but she held herself up proudly. Sex was something she understood: she was eighteen and worldly. She turned to him and laughed.

"You look like a fish out of water, shark bait."

He straightened up and willed himself to stop shaking. This was the first time she had bothered to acknowledge him. Now she was trying to intimidate him because she felt threatened. He saw her eyes sliding up and down his figure. In a rush of certainty, Finnick knew she was not only checking him out as competition.

_Sell it._

Finnick turned and gave Yvonne one of his cheeky grins that always made Trish laugh. "Only if you're the shark, darling."

Yvonne's face was shocked when the chariot exited the Training Center. She quickly transformed it into a dark, sexy pout and waved at the crowd, flipping her hair.

Finnick watched her for a moment, before turning to his own side.

_Sell it. _

Amongst the crowd he spied a woman leaning forward, trying to see. He locked eyes with her and deliberately blew a kiss at her. Several other people laughed and squealed, pointing excitedly at him. He gave the crowd a wave next, accompanied by his brightest, biggest smile. Then he started comically flexing his arm muscles, the way that he used to imitate Myron when he was trying to impress a girl.

The crowd was screaming for him, and he thought he could distantly hear them shouting, "Four, Four, Four!"

When their chariot arrived back to the Training Center, Mags took his arm, shaking her head.

* * *

Finnick was all anyone could talk about in the Capitol before the Games. Within minutes of his little show on the chariot, everyone was calling him a "heart-breaker," "God of the sea," and "The most beautiful boy in Panem." There was no speculation about the other Tributes, only Finnick. Although he was worried this would draw a lot of negative attention onto him from the others, they laughed and dismissed him. Yvonne told the other Careers from Districts One and Two that he was no real threat, just a baby Career who was Reaped before he was close to finishing Training. That was fine with Finnick, because he knew if he joined an alliance, they would take all of sponsor gifts and kill him when his back was turned. For the first time since he was Reaped, Finnick believed he had a real chance at winning.

He'd thought that Mags would be happy that he was getting the kind of attention that would surely lead to sponsors, but she kept muttering things like 'exploitation' and 'child pornography.' Which, in his opinion, was taking things a bit too far. Sure it was weird to have strangers talk about his body and speculate about his sex life on national television – if only they knew the truth! – but it wasn't like they were making him take naked pictures or anything equally disturbing.

The other Tributes thought he was a joke and the Capitol was in love with him. As far as Finnick was concerned, that was the perfect recipe for winning the Games. He did not understand why Mags didn't agree.

And he so wanted her to. He wished she would laugh and chat with him like they did the first night, but she just worried and pursed her lips and helped him practice making nets out of tree bark she found somewhere. Yvonne spent her entire time as far away from Finnick as possible, training with Bruce until her fingers bled.

His stylist, emboldened by the public's reaction to Finnick, gave him a form-fitting suit with no shirt beneath it for his interview. The strange man gushed on and on about how fabulous he looked, but all Finnick could think was that suits look absolutely ridiculous without shirts.

The Capitol didn't seem to agree – yes, he'd starting to refer to them as a single entity for he'd found that for all their diversity they were all the same – and it roared with approval when he entered. People, men and women, were taking pictures and standing up to get a better look and shouting, "I love you Finnick!"

Suddenly Finnick didn't think Mags was wrong about this being exploitation.

He shot the crowd his best grin and heard a few squeals. Weird. He couldn't imagine being so infatuated with someone that he squealed when they so much as smiled. Brushing away these unnerving thoughts he sat down in the chair across from Caesar Flickerman, who proceeded to ask him absolutely no questions about the Games. Instead it was all about his sex life.

Finnick didn't have a sex life.

So he lied.

He told stories that were his brother's, half-baked stories his friends had made up, things he'd heard whispered in the hall. All the while he skirted very carefully away from details, covering up his inexperience with winks and cheeky comments.

"So Finnick, my boy," Caesar whispered conspiratorially, shooting the audience grins. Finnick was trying very hard not to show that he was counting down the clock until the interview was over. He could just imagine his mom shaking down his brother, demanding to know if it was true, if her baby boy had done all those things. Most Victors probably got a hug from their mother when they came home, while he was likely going to get a slap if he ever returned. "May I ask who the lucky lady is who…first was speared by your trident?"

The crowd gasped with laughter and Finnick forced himself not to go red. _Sell it, sell it, sell it. _He grinned at Caesar slyly. "Oh Caesar, you know I don't kiss and tell."

The audience burst into laughter again again and Caesar chuckled with them. "Oh come now, Finnick, I'm not asking for details. Just one little name. Whoever the lucky lady is," Finnick noticed this was the second time he used lucky lady in less than fifteen seconds, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind the whole world knowing she was the first one to sleep with _the _Finnick Odair." He couldn't help noticing that his name had become like a brand name.

The clock was winding down and he couldn't leave the crowd disappointed. This was the last moment that would ensure sponsors for the Games, his only chance of survival. In retrospect, he should have said he couldn't remember, or even made up a name. He should have said anything but what came out of his mouth.

"Trisha Walden."

The crowd gasped and giggled and the buzzer rang, but Finnick doesn't hear any of it. He can just see Trisha gaping at the screen in betrayal while her parents screamed at her. And in that moment he knew that if he did make it out of the Games, it would be without a best friend.

* * *

The night before the Games was pure horror. Finnick knew he had to sleep but he couldn't close his eyes. He kept seeing the other Tributes ripping each other apart with their bare hands before turning on him, madness in their eyes. For a moment he drifted off but was startled back awake by the sound of his door opening.

Instinctively, he grabbed the remote control for his window and held it back, ready to strike.

There was a laugh. "Is that what you're going to use in the arena?"

Yvonne. Finnick didn't drop the remote, though his stance relaxed a bit. "There weren't any knives readily available." With good reason too: when Tributes killed themselves before the Games even started, it made the Games less exciting.

She laughed again. He pressed a button and the room flooded with light, making him feel slightly less vulnerable. "How are you doing, shark bait?"

"Fine." He replied steadily, keeping his eyes trained on her as she came closer. She wasn't going to kill him before the games started, was she? He knew they weren't going to be allies, she'd made that clear from the beginning, but she'd be insane to take him out now. "What do you want?"

Yvonne shrugged innocently. There was nothing innocent about her. "Oh, not much. Just a little company before we all march off to the arena tomorrow." She sits down on the bed next to him.

He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't seem to keen on my company before."

She looked at him through dark eyelashes. "I thought you were a little kid before. But you're not, are you?" Her hand touched his chest and even though he was wearing a shirt he could feel how cold her fingers were.

Finnick yanked away from her touch, feeling panicked. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Giving you something not even Trisha Walden could." Yvonne gripped him by his shoulders firmly. She was strong, maybe stronger than him. Finnick wasn't sure, because he was frozen still, trying to process her words.

She leaned forward and captured his lips harshly. Hers were soft and their contact on his may have been pleasant if she wasn't pushing her tongue past his lips and teeth, gripping his shoulders so tightly they bruised. Her hands inched closer to his neck and suddenly Finnick worried she may have been trying to murder him.

Because she would. She would try to murder him.

The thought made Finnick recoil. He threw her off with a shout and touched his lip. The was blood there, did she bite him? He didn't even know. "What the fuck?"

Yvonne took this turn of events in stride, rolling her eyes. "Thought you might like to have one last night of fun before you die. Too bad." She walked to the door and her gaze turned lethal. "Remember shark bait. I'm coming for you."

Finnick sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes, shaking. She hadn't really thought, she couldn't have actually…

_Of course she did, _sneered an ugly voice inside his head, _you just told the entire world you're a sex god. Of course she would think you'd want to sleep with her._

He crawled back under the covers and pressed his hand to his lips again. That was his first kiss.

Finnick didn't sleep the night before his Games.

He didn't sleep much during, either. Mags's last advice to him before he went to bed was, "Keep your eyes open." After his encounter with Yvonne, Finnick didn't think he could ever sleep again. Every time his eyes fluttered shut he now saw her choking him, sucking the life out of him with her kiss.

Mags managed to send him energy pills. They came with a warning to use sparingly. He followed those instructions until he woke up in the middle of the night with a shivering Tribute from Eight holding a knife over him. Finnick didn't even think: he grabbed the hand that was holding the knife and twisted until he heard bones break and she was forced to let go. Then he took the Tribute's own knife and stabbed her with it.

He moved camp that night. He wasn't sure if it was because that girl had proven it was unsafe, or to escape the scent of death.

He also downed the remaining energy pills with one of the bottles of water Mags had generously supplied. He didn't sleep again for the rest of the Games.

The cannons that rang out every day and the anthem that played at night made it clear: it was just Finnick and the other Careers now. He wondered if they'd turned on each other yet, or if their last task as a group would be to hunt him down. He knew it was time to turn proactive. Mags had been amazing, sending him an endless supply of food and water, as well as ointment when he burned himself from a forest fire. In all the years he'd watched the Games, no Tribute had ever been sent this many gifts. And Finnick knew there was no way the other Tributes were receiving the level of favoritism he was. Now was the time to face them, when he was well fed, full of energy and healthy. Before the energy pills ran out and he was left with nothing.

He knew Mags was right about his combat skills. Finnick was comfortable with just about every weapon, but the Careers were intimately familiar with every weapon. The only weapon he felt positive he could win with was a trident. There was probably one at the Cornucopia, he'd shown the Gamemakers some – not all – of his skills with the weapon, but the Careers were guarding the Cornucopia like always. There was no way to get to a trident until the end if he could move the final fight to the Cornucopia. Until then he would have to set some traps.

It was then that Finnick was glad for all the time Mags spent teaching him how to weave nets with materials other than twine. Once he learned how to strip the bark from trees in a long, strong line it was easy to make sturdy nets. During one of his expeditions he came across a valley of vines, so unnatural seeming it was almost like the Gamemakers had put it there on purpose.

Maybe they had.

He set up traps all around his camp and lit a fire. Finnick could almost imagine everyone gaping at their screens saying, "He lit a fire? Why would he light a fire?" And the other mentors would be laughing at Mags, telling her that her boy had gone insane: he could picture her small smile easily.

Yvonne came first. He wondered if she had broken away from the group or if she had wanted to kill him personally. Putting all personal feelings aside, he hoped it was the latter, because if she didn't return that meant her allies would follow.

And he could get out of that godforsaken arena.

"You camping, shark bait?" Her voice was more cautious than it ever had been when talking to him. She hadn't planned on him making it this far, she'd clearly underestimated him, underestimated his strategy. But she still seemed to have the upper hand with her long sword against his knife.

"Yeah." He replied lightly. "I was thinking we could sit on logs around the fire and swap stories. Got any good ones?"

She steps closer to him. "A few."

"I've got one. I killed a girl a few nights ago. I think she was thirteen." Finnick's voice wavered. "She was trying to kill me, but I…" He let his gaze drift away. "I'm not cut out for this. I shouldn't be here."

Millions of people were screaming at their television. Finnick could feel it.

Yvonne smirked. "I knew you were playing, Pretty Boy. In the end you're a coward just like your brother."

Finnick forced himself to sigh and hang his head. "I guess so."

His slight drop of guard was the only signal Yvonne needed to charge toward him. She sprung forward, sword swung back to slice him to pieces. Unfortunately for her, she was so caught up in her blood lust she didn't feel the net he'd hidden beneath the leaves.

The trap snapped up and she screamed because she was twisted into all sorts of unnatural positions and her own sword was sticking out of her back. Finnick calmly walked up and slit her carotid artery, just like they were both taught. He took the sword out of her back and cleaned it against a nearby tree. It wasn't a trident, but it was better than a knife.

He turned away from Yvonne and tried to settle the rising vomit in his throat. He has never felt so dirty, so unclean in his life before.

_You're _good, _Finn. _

"No I'm not." He whispered, pressing his hands to his face. There were three more left: two from District One and one from District Two. From the sounds of nearby shouting, Yvonne was still allied with them. They were coming for him and they wouldn't fall for the same trick once. He couldn't run. There was no choice left but to fight. This would be the best place for it, since he knew where to step and they didn't, but that meant no trident. He looked at the sword uneasily in his hands. Honestly he'd felt more comfortable with a knife.

There was a shadow falling over him and he looked up suddenly, expecting a Tribute to jump out at him. But it wasn't a person: it was a long object, a long object with three prongs on the end. _A trident. _

Finnick shook his head. This _had _to be a side effect from those energy pills. There was no way Mags just read his mind. No way.

It continued to drift down and he could see that it was attached to a silver parachute. He can also that it was gold and gleaming. It floated down and he grasped it with his hand. The trident felt so natural, almost like an extension of his body and he nearly cried.

"Thank you!" He whispered, clutching it to his chest. "Thank you!"

This was the end of his Games. Mags must have spent all the rest of their sponsor money on that trident. He had eaten well, drank well and stayed healthy throughout the Games. He was in better shape than the other Tributes. He had traps all around him, protecting him. This was his final fight and Finnick knew he would win.

The fight was so electrifying and exciting to audiences that there was no need for a Gamemaker-caused disaster. Two Career boys and a girl fought against Finnick and one by one were trapped, maimed and killed. He stood in the middle of his trap-riddled camp, dripping with blood, trident clenched firmly in his hand, the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

When they pulled him up onto the hovercraft Mags immediately wrapped a blanket around him and he fell into her, shaking and sobbing.

"I'm not good, I'm not good, I'm not good, I'm not good." He whispered over and over again. All he wanted to do was sleep, curl up in Mags's arms and sleep for days. Maybe when he woke up the blood would be gone and the tightness in his chest would be gone and the desire to tear out his own throat would be gone.

Or maybe all of this would have never happened.

Mags wrapped her arms around him and she was sturdy and strong for such a little woman. "Yes you are, sweetie." She whispered to him. "You are." Her voice dropped lower until only she was so quiet only he can hear her. "_They're _the ones who are bad, not you. _They _should be sorry."

Finnick was shaking and drifting in between hysteria and sleep. He doesn't understand. Who's bad? The other Tributes? No, you can't blame them, they're dead.

_I killed them._

_ I'm bad._

* * *

Finnick spent the next few days in the hospital, sleeping. Apparently the warnings about not taking too many energy pills were very serious and he nearly killed himself. Luckily the Games ended just in time and they were able to save him.

Luckily.

Right.

He tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he was not yet fifteen and already wished he were dead.

Mags visited him but he pretended to be asleep even as she stroked her wrinkly fingers through his curls. He knew it wasn't fair, but he was angry with her. Angry for keeping him alive, angry for not telling him he would feel this way. Angry because for someone who seems so good and honest, why didn't she feel this way? How did the other Victors smile at their cheering fans, waving with hands that slid knives across other children's throats? Why was he the only one who was different, the only one who can't be happy?

He was so depressed he couldn't even stand up on his own, so they delayed his Recap. A day after he was supposed to interview with Caesar, he had a visitor in the hospital.

"Your fans are disappointed with the delay." He heard behind him. Finnick recognized the voice from somewhere and in the back of his mind he knew it was an important voice. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Screw them." Finnick mumbled into his pillow. He knew he should probably turn over but he couldn't summon the energy.

There were footsteps going around the bed and then President Snow's face appeared in front of him. Finnick wasn't even shocked. "Your fans are the only reason you are alive today, Mr. Odair." He informed Finnick softly. "They expect to see you onstage, thanking them for their generosity." Snow leaned in close then. Finnick thought he smelled blood. "They were told that you were still recovering from your energy pill overdose, but you would be back to your old self in no time. Otherwise, there would be consequences. Is that clear, Mr. Odair?"

_Consequences. _The word swam in behind Finnick's eyelids and he wondered what it meant. He already wanted to die; they could go ahead and kill him if they wished. But no, they couldn't because the Capitol loved him, for some reason. What other kind of consequences could Snow mean?

He remembered his mother and Myron back at home, and Trish, whom he'd foolishly singled out by name. Suddenly he found that he didn't want to find out what Snow meant.

Instead he asked another question. "Why do you care?" It was more of a plea than a question. They'd already taken his goodness from him. Why couldn't they just let him suffer and die in peace?

Snow half smiled at him. It wasn't a pleasant sight. "Did you know that there is a fish in the sea that survives by attaching itself to a shark? It eats the parasites off of the shark and in return the shark does not have to worry about the parasites. It is called–"

"A Remora." Finnick whispered.

Snow looked pleased and Finnick wasn't sure if it was because Finnick had proved he had a brain, or because he was coherent enough to follow the conversation. "Indeed. They have a symbiotic relationship. One other such relationship is that between a Victor and the Capitol. The Capitol provides food, wealth and protection while the Victor takes care of the parasites. That is, the people of the Panem." His smile dropped. "Your job is to keep the people of Panem happy. Your participation in the Games was an honor, your life after winning could not be happier. Are we clear?"

Finnick's mind suddenly flashed to the conversation he had with Myron the night before he was Reaped: _The happy lives Victors live…it's not real, Finnick. _Suddenly he was frozen because he too could see beyond the smiles and waves of all the Victors. He wasn't different from them at all. He was exactly the same.

"We're clear."

They pumped him full of anti-depressents and he went on stage that night, all smiles and winks and jokes. He loved everybody who helped him so much. He was happy to be alive. He was thrilled to stand before them once again and soak up all their attention.

Throughout the whole Recap, Interview and Crowning process, Finnick's charming grin only faltered once. They went through all of his kills – seven, not five, two of the Tributes he attacked at the Cornucopia died from the wounds he inflicted – and he watched the little girl from District Eight sneak into his camp. He saw her clutching her knife closely in self-defense, steering clear of his sleeping form as if he were a slumbering monster. She tripped over his pack and fell toward him. Seconds later, she was dead.

Once he was backstage and no one was watching, he ducked behind a potted plant and threw up.

* * *

When Finnick left the Capitol, there were hundreds of people to see him off. He stood at the window and smiled. He waved. He saw his hand slashing Yvonne's throat.

Dora was bubbling with excitement when she came into the compartment where Finnick, Mags and Bruce were sitting, a bottle of champagne and four glasses in her hands. She handed each of them a glass.

"To our new Victor, Finnick Odair!" She gushed, pouring champagne into Mags and Bruce's glasses. Finnick held out his glass and Dora reached to pour some into it, but Mags blocked her with her hand.

"Water." She ordered clearly. There was a glass container of water on the coffee table and she poured a fair amount of it into Finnick's glass. He took it without protest.

Dora lifted her own glass and clinked it with all of theirs. "Oh this is so exciting, I've never had a Victor before. And such a spectacular one too! They may even promote me."

Finnick certainly hoped so. He hoped she left District Four and never came back. She wasn't terribly unpleasant by Capitol standards, but every time he looked at her he heard her calling him up toward the stage.

Dora chatted to them for a while about nonsensical things and the Victor's Tour, which Finnick did not want to think about. That was six months away. He had six months of freedom before life in front of the cameras again. His stony glare, accompanied with Mags and Bruce's silence, must have caught Dora's attention because she excused herself politely and left the compartment.

Bruce looked between Mags and Finnick. "Congratulations on your win." There was a trace of bitterness in his voice: it may have been because he regretted switching to the losing side, or maybe he truly became fond of Yvonne. Either way, there was no discerning past his hardened face. He too exited the compartment, leaving Mags and Finnick alone for the first time since before the Games.

He turned to her. "I'm sorry I ignored you at the hospital." It was not the neglect he felt terribly about, but the judgment. He judged her as cruel, unfeeling and somehow less of a person than he, when she was just so much better at adjusting.

Somehow she understood him. "This pain that you feel is what makes you good. You were strong in the arena and it is natural you would hurt so badly after. But now you need to be strong again." She cupped his chin and smiled sadly at him. "The Capitol wants to see you as you were before the games. They don't want to see you hurting from what they made you do. It would make people uncomfortable, make them question the Games. And you can't be the one to cause that." Something about the seriousness in her gaze made Finnick nod fervently. "No matter what you are feeling, always put on a smile for the cameras. Eventually the spotlight will turn away from you and you will be able to live a relatively normal life."

"How long?" Finnick asked her, as he would ask his mother how much longer he had to sit in the corner for time out. "How long until they leave me alone?"

Mags pulled him toward her and once again Finnick felt himself melting into her, like she was a buoy holding him to the shore during a storm. "I'm afraid I don't know." She whispered. "But you can _always _be yourself with me. Whatever you're feeling, you can tell me."

He thanked her, though her offer felt a tad bit unnecessary. He still had his real mother, after all, and Myron. It felt strange to think of Myron and the long-boiling jealousy and resentment he'd harbored toward his brother. Finnick's gut clenched as he wondered how their relationship would change now. His mind hearkened back to his thoughts during the first interview and wondered if his mother actually would slap him. And Trisha…shit, Trisha. That had been such a mistake. He could have said any name – even just a first name! Her name had just slipped past his lips, probably because she was the only girl he'd ever thought about kissing.

That was never going to happen now. For the rest of the train ride, Finnick imagined a fantasy world where he hadn't killed anyone, yet was still the Victor. He'd never lied to the cameras about his sexual experiences and when he came home his mother gave him a big hug and kissed his forehead. His eyes found Trisha's in the crowd and he pushed straight through the crowd until they were face to face. And he pulled her close and kissed her, but the kiss was sweet and gentle. There was no tongue pushing or lip biting: just smooth, gentle contact. They both blushed when he pulled away because that was their first kiss, together and apart. And even though they were surrounded by tons of people and there was whooping and catcalling, Finnick didn't mind because his first kiss was with someone he cared about, or at the very least didn't want to kill him.

That would have been nice.

He was jarred back to reality by the train's halt. Mags took his arm and led him off the train. "Smile," She whispered to him. As soon as the fresh, salty air hits his face, Finnick found he doesn't have to fake it. The smile was stretching across his face of his own volition, so much so that he might cry.

_Keep it together, _he told himself, noticing the camera to his left. They wanted to film his triumphant return – not something typically done, but the Capitol kept demanding to know more, see more, have more of him. Finnick reminded himself that it was worth it, to see his family again. Even if his mother did slap him in the face. Though hopefully she would know better than to do that on camera…

"Finnick!" Her voice called over above the crowd. She was at the front with Myron, where Peacekeepers were keeping the crowd at bay. At first look it seemed as if they were doing this as a courtesy to the Odairs, but Finnick had an inkling the Peacekeepers were there to ensure no one interfered with the cameras filming his touching homecoming.

But her eyes were wide and weeping with joy and suddenly it didn't matter that there were cameras and stupid people in the Capitol were sipping on stupid frothy drinks while they watched this. All that mattered was getting to her as quickly as possible. Physically he was still weak from his overdose of energy pills and whatever cocktail of drugs they dosed him with before the Recap, but he made his way toward his mother without faltering and stopped before her.

"Hi mom," He whispered, searching for acceptance in her face, knowing everything she must have seen. He needed her to still love him, to see that he was still the same person deep down he had always been.

His mother grabbed tightly into a hug, squeezing the breath out of him. He heard a chorus of "Awes" from the camera crew. They didn't matter though. His mother was digging her palms into his back fiercely, like she was afraid if she didn't hold him close enough they would rip him away from her. He buried his face in her hair, not wanting her to know that this was a legitimate fear.

At long last they broke away. Myron was standing behind their mother. Finnick noticed that his face was pale, lacking its sun-kissed tan and he had the look of a man who had lost too much weight too quickly. He was looking intently into Finnick's eyes, asking a silent question.

_Are you broken?_

Finnick stepped forward and crushed his brother into a hug nearly equaling his mother with his ferventness. The distance between their faces had grown shorter and Finnick realized he had grown just in the last month. The thought that he'd grown and he hadn't been home for his mother to mark it on the kitchen door made him feel just a little more lost.

He stood on his toes slightly because he still had to do that to reach Myron's ear. "I'm still good." He whispered. And remarkably, Finnick believed it.

* * *

The entire time Finnick was in the arena, all he wanted was to go back home where life would be entirely the same. He should have known that could never happen.

They moved to Victor's Village. His mother painstakingly packed everything they own and tried to make their new home as comfortable as their old one. It was nicer, certainly and it had all those beautiful things Finnick once saw in the windows. But it was further away from the sea and the fish markets, because the Capitol saw those things as wretched and smelly. And they probably were: Finnick was sure it was an acquired smell, but it was comfortable and familiar to him. In his darker moments, he found himself praying that small comfort was the last thing the Capitol would take from him.

He knew there would be more sacrifices, much bigger ones. Because the money that poured in was so inconceivably enormous, it couldn't all be for three people. He asked Mags offhandedly if there was some sort of charity he could give it to. Mags actually paused in her knitting and told him adamantly, "_No." _Victors were there to demonstrate the generosity the Capitol could provide. They were _not _meant to be another source of generosity the Districts could turn to when times were toughest.

That was the general lesson he seemed to be learning. The Capitol has absolute power. Never do anything that even remotely looks like you are trying to take some of that power for yourself.

So Finnick took his money and spent it on the only expensive thing he could ever imagine purchasing: a boat. They named her _Sirena _and it became tradition for Myron and Finnick to spend all day with her, talking, fishing – they practice catch and release fishing now, as they have no need for the money and it would be seen as poor sport to the other fisherman who needed the catch to survive – and sometimes just gazing up at the sky, saying nothing and doing nothing at all.

Laziness overtook Finnick and he wished he needed the catch to survive as well. It would give him some sort of purpose, a meaning to life other than eating, drifting around on _Sirena _and frightening his family half to death every time he screamed himself awake. Once he headed to the docks looking just to lend an extra hand, free of charge, something Myron did when he was bored. They accepted Myron, joking with him about the lap of luxury but still respecting him when they saw he was as hard working as ever. Their conversation grew silent when Finnick approached and he found himself just nodding at them and continuing on his way, as if that had been his plan all along.

Most people were quite friendly to him, though. They'd stop him for conversation and point him out among crowds. _What was the Capitol like_, they'd say. And, _You were so young and brave. _They would talk for a bit before moving along. Everyone wanted to say they knew him, but no one actually wanted to get to know him. Finnick realized the more people he knew, the lonelier he was.

His mother broached the subject of school three months after his return and Finnick replied with a quick and solid, "No." He wouldn't be allowed to return to Training – not that he wished to learn anything else in the art of killing people – and he would absolutely not fit in at the regular school. When he lay awake that night staring at his ceiling, he realized there was nowhere he fit in anymore.

* * *

Through a combination of luck and remarkable evasion on both their parts, Finnick and Trish didn't see each other until a month before Finnick's Victory Tour. It was his birthday and after the small celebration at his house with his mother, Myron and Mags, he decided to take a walk on the shore like he always had on birthdays past. He walked barefoot on the sand, shoes dangling idly from one hand. Fifteen.

Finnick remembered the day of his father's fortieth birthday. It was the last one they celebrated with him. He'd bounded into the room excitedly at the crack of dawn, jumping onto the bed and yelling excitedly.

"Dad, wake up, it's your birthday! Wake up!" And then he'd zoomed over to Myron's room to wake him up before zooming back. To his enormous disappointment, his dad had still been stretching to get out of bed, while his mother was already padding downstairs in her slippers.

"Dad, why aren't you happy? It's your birthday!"

His dad had laughed and ruffled Finnick's curls affectionately. "I am happy, sea-biscuit. I'm so happy to be celebrating this with you!"

Finnick had pouted and tried to articulate into words what his little heart was feeling. "But you're not _excited_." He pointed out. "It's your birthday, you're a year older!"

His dad laughed again while pulling on his own slippers. "Kid, there comes a point in life where turning a year older stops being anything but a simple marker for the time you've spent on earth."

The tide crept over his toes and Finnick felt he had reached that point. He had reached it far, far earlier than his dad would have ever wanted him to. He was fifteen and he didn't care. Judging from his abysmally small party, hardly anyone else cared either.

Memories swirled in his mind like a whirlpool and he plucked one out at random. Last year, his mother had made a huge meal and all his friends had been there. Despite Myron and the mess he'd made of their reputation, Finnick always had many friends. When old ones fell away he simply found new ones. They seemed drawn to him. He'd always thought it was because he was fun to be around. Maybe they just became friends with him because he was good looking, but left when they got to know the real him.

That was a dark thought.

He'd had real friends, Finnick reminded himself sternly. The ones who always found his jokes funny, no matter how out of line they may have been. The ones who never blamed him for what Myron did, and actually tried to help him understand why his brother made such a decision.

The ones like Trish.

And then, as if his thoughts pulled her toward him, she was walking the opposite direction on the shore that he is, heading straight for him. Finnick froze, wanting more than anything to run away. But she had seen him now and if she wasn't going to be a coward, then he would stop being one as well.

They both stopped walking when they were about a foot from each other. He opened his mouth to speak, before realizing he had no clue what to say.

_Sorry I made you sound like a whore on national television._

Thankfully, she spoke first before he could say anything stupid.

"Tell me they made you do it," She whispered, arms clenched around her chest. As soon as he comprehended her words, he felt relief. She understood. She understood that he was forced into those lies, that grand act. Trisha always knew him better than anyone else, even Myron.

Except she did know. She knew he wouldn't have behaved that way by choice, said the things that he did if no one was making him. That wasn't the question she was asking.

She wanted to know if anyone made him lie and tell the entire world they slept together. And as much as he wanted to say yes, he'd already burdened her with too many lies.

"No," He said instead, and watched her crumple on the inside.

She'd always been quietly strong though, so she just nodded and turned away. "Goodbye Finnick."

* * *

"Does being in love hurt, Myron?"

It was the middle of the night and they were both lying on _Sirena's _deck, staring at the stars. For hours the only sound had been the rocking of the waves, the creaking of the boat's wood and their own breaths.

Myron sat up on his elbows and looked bemusedly at his little brother. "Are you in love, Finnie?"

Finnick rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I'm way too young to love somebody." And even though his soul felt very old, he knew this to be true. After the Games it was like he was born again and had to go through childhood all over again. He had to learn to live and breathe and laugh on his own before he could even think about falling in love.

Myron chuckled. "So why did you ask the question?"

Finnick sighed and gazed at the sky. To him, the stars were so much more wonderful and bright than any of the Capitol's lights could ever be. "I think I liked someone – a girl," He added quickly as a preemptive measure to cut off any jokes Myron might have made, "And it didn't work out. It's painful, more painful than I thought it would be. And I only liked her." Now that he'd said it, it sounds pretty damn stupid hanging out in the air.

But Myron seems thoughtful. "Honestly? I've never been in love. I had something close to it once and that was painful – like trying to hold together cloth that keeps tearing between your fingers. That was unrequited love. Real love is…what Mom and Dad had, I suppose."

"That love hurts her everyday." Finnick replied.

"You're just seeing the aftermath of love," Myron told him. "Love lost is always painful. Love found may probably be the most beautiful thing in the world." He patted Finnick's arm. "One day you'll see it for yourself. I have every faith."

* * *

By the time his Victory Tour came around, Finnick felt as recovered from his Games as he ever would be. The morning he left, his mother made pancakes and bought fancy imported maple syrup from District Seven. Finnick dove into the meal like it was the most exquisite than any Capitol feast. To him, it was.

"Finn, slow down." His mother scolded gently. "You'll choke yourself."

"That would be a story." Chortled Myron. He spread out his hands before him like he was framing a headline. "'Victor of the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games Dies While Eating Pancakes.'"

Finnick chuckled around his mouthful and replied, "What can I say? My stomach is my one true weakness."

As if summoned by his words, Mags walked into their kitchen. She'd come over in the middle of the night so many times to soothe Finnick down from his nightmares that she now had her own key. Finnick stood up to greet her and his eyes lit up at the basket in her hands.

"Are those strawberries?" He demanded to know. She nodded knowingly as she set the basket down.

"Something to commemorate our first meeting." She told him with a twinkle in her eye.

Unable to contain his affection for the feeble old woman, Finnick laughed, scooped her up in his arms and twirled her around gleefully. "Mags, you're a marvel." He set her back down gently and happily added a few strawberries to his pancakes. After taking a bite of the strawberry-pancake goodness he leaned back and sighed contentedly. "This is what heaven feels like." He closed his eyes. "I'm just going to drift off to Nirvana now, nobody wake me."

His mother rapped his forehead lightly with her knuckles. "As amusing as it is to watch you sit there with your mouth hanging open, don't you have to prepare for your Tour?"

Finnick smirked and gestured extravagantly to all of him. "Mom, look at me. I'm perfect. There's nothing to prepare." His words were made all the funnier by his sunburn, his sea-salt soaked hair, and the baggy sweatshirt he was sporting. He couldn't have looked further away from the Capitol Finnick Odair if he tried.

His prep team expressed their dismay as soon as they walked in the door. "But why?" They exclaimed, touching his sunburn and then jerking their hands back as if they too had been burned. "Why would you ruin such perfect bronze skin this way?"

Finnick tried to tell them that sunburns led to bronze skin, but they couldn't grasp the concept. They stripped away the sunburn, callouses and scars he accumulated during the last sixth months, before painting him over. The tan was too dark: even though District Four didn't have winter like most of the other Districts, they still have less sun during those months and everyone becomes a little paler. His skin looked fake and ridiculous, but his prep team assured him it would look fabulous on camera.

His stylist, whose name he finally learned to be Arnavi, had come up with all sorts of outfits that he called "Classic District Four." His wardrobe was full of sleeveless vests, fishnet undershirts and blue slacks. Finnick would have liked to see Arnavi's face if he learned that "Classic District Four" was the jeans and sweatshirt he was wearing earlier.

The cameras arrived and Finnick guided them through "The Life of Finnick Odair." He showed them his family's new home, _Sirena_, and walked them through the marketplace where everyone stopped and waved at him.

"As you can see, I'm just as popular here as in the Capitol." He told the camera with a smile and a wink. They needn't know his only friends in the world were his family and Mags.

And it looked as if no one was going to find out, because the crowd that saw him off for his Victory Tour was even larger than the one that greeted him. He looked for Trisha among the faces even though he knew she wasn't there.

* * *

They started the Tour by travelling all the way back to Twelve and working their way back from there. Finnick learned that he hated being in Districts poorer than his own, which was nearly all of them. They stared up at him with their grimy grubby faces, emaciated figures that seemed to radiate hunger. He felt grotesque up on his pedestal, hideously overstuffed. Even when he was poor, when he was stealing strawberries from Mags's garden, he had never starved. Even in the Hunger Games, he had never been hungry.

District Eight was the worst of all. The little girl he killed haunted his dreams every night after that visit. Her name was Alicia. She was a tiny thing, the only child of her grieving parents. He killed her needlessly and faked remorse over her death to kill another girl.

He woke up screaming in horror that night and broke down in Mags's arms

By the time they reached District Two Finnick had regained his composure. He was able to make it through his pre-written speeches and even tack a joke or two of his own on. The Tribute he killed from their District knew what he was signing up for. Finnick told himself he felt no remorse. He told himself the same in District One.

This time he was fully there for his interview with Caesar. And this time he kept the talk away from District Four and anyone there. Instead he expressed his delight at the finery of the Capitol and even managed to joke about his sweet tooth. Afterward he realized that something seen as innocently funny around his breakfast table took on another layer of meaning in the Capitol.

His biggest mistake occurred when Caesar asked him if he had any new 'exploits' to share with the audience. Finnick panicked. He didn't want a repeat of what happened with Trish and he'd had so much attention placed on him back home everyone would know immediately if he lied.

"Not really," He said instead, leaning back casually in the chair. "After the Capitol, everything back home seems so drab and boring, you know? It's my home so I have to love it, but the people and things here are far more exciting."

At the time it was a good strategy, a throwaway comment that let Caesar direct the conversation to how glorious the Capitol was – Caesar's favorite topic, probably because it was the safest. Later he would look back on that moment and wonder if things would be different had he not said that. Probably not, but Finnick loved to hang on to the possibility that one single moment could change his entire life, so if he ever was able to go back he'd know exactly which regrets to fix.

And that was certainly a regret, because that was the moment he changed from _Finnick Odair, the boy the Capitol loves, _to _Finnick Odair, the boy who loves the Capitol back._

* * *

Finnick imagined that for Mags, the next year was like trying to steer a boat that was intent on crashing into a cliff-face. Even though her mentorship was technically finished after his Victory Tour, she continued to stand beside him at events and accompanied him to the various publicity stunts in the Capitol Snow requested he appear in. She would clutch his arm tightly, steering him toward some people and away from others. It was a good thing she was there, because Finnick had the strong impression that the other Victors didn't like him all that much. To the other Careers he was a pampered Pretty Boy – to the poorer and more rebellious Victors, he was a Capitol Pet. The non-Career Victors like Mags so they tolerated him. Many times when he was hanging around them Finnick felt like a kid at the grown-up's table.

Mags couldn't keep him away from the Capitolites too much, though. Those strange wealthy people, who almost seemed a different race from the people of the District people, couldn't get enough of him and swarmed him everywhere he went. It was similar to the way everyone in District Four wanted to have a conversation with him, only the Capitolites were much more hands-on than his own people. They were also unbelievably shallow. Rather than talking about his actions they gushed over his looks. He was "gorgeous," "exquisite," "a masterpiece."

"Am I really that attractive?" Finnick asked Mags during a train ride back to District Four. He certainly didn't feel attractive at that moment: his clothes were itchy and stiff, and his fake-tan almost looked orange.

She gave him a strange look. "Are you fishing for a compliment?" She asked him wryly.

"No, not at all!" He laughed. "I just…the people in the Capitol are so strange and their sense of what's attractive seems way off to me. It usually seems based around artificial things, like skin tattoos and weirdly colored hair and what clothes they're wearing…" He didn't have to say that with him, they seemed to be more interested in what clothes he _wasn't _wearing. Mags was well aware of that. "I just don't get what's so appealing about me to them."

Mags must have detected the honest confusion in his voice for she softened. "It is your physical appearance, yes. You are a naturally beautiful boy and they see that. They are like children who see something shiny and gravitate toward that." She gave him a gummy smile. "But you are much more than what they see. You are sweet and pure and above all _good._"

"Am I though?" Finnick thought of Alicia.

She cupped his cheek. "I have mentored many Tributes in my time. Many of them became Victors. I have never cared for one the way I care for you. And I am a very good judge of character."

It _was _clear that Mags cared a lot. She came over to his house all of the time. Myron and their mother became fond of her and they would all venture out into town together. Finnick was always pleased to escort Mags to the market, supporting her gallantly with his arm like she were a queen and he a knight tasked with aiding her. On one such day while Mags was trying to decide which bass filet to buy, Finnick caught Yarvis staring at them and slowly, deliberately winked at him. He smirked when Yarvis put his head down and scurried away.

_Old witch indeed._

The other Victors in District Four steered relatively clear of them. Finnick came to understand that though they respected her wisdom, most of them believed Mags to be senile and feeble. They thought she shouldn't be mentoring at all anymore. Considering that she had mentored quite of few of them, Finnick found their attitudes rather thankless and rude. So he asserted his loyalty by always seeking her company first and the other Victors understood the message: Finnick was with Mags, and the rest of them could screw themselves.

During the 66th Hunger Games, Finnick stayed home. He was only fifteen and there were better, older mentors than him. Mags stayed behind as well and watched the Games in the Odair house, her hand placed gently on his arm. Initially he thought she was babying him too much: that was before the Games began and the first cannon went off. Suddenly he was folded up into a fetal position, pressing his face into his knees firmly, whispering the mantra "I'm not good" repeatedly. When the room quieted down and the Tributes made their way off to separate camps, Finnick straightened to find Mags's hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, while Myron and his mother stared at him in slack-jawed horror.

Every time there was a confrontation between Tributes for the rest of the day, Mags had to squeeze his arm tightly to keep him centered in reality. On Day Two, she came over the morning with two ropes.

"Here," She handed him one and began twisting her own. "Show me the Killick hitch."

They spent the rest of the Games tying and untying knots. The process fascinated Finnick: there was something oddly beautiful about how easily a complicated knot would unravel when he tugged just the right loop. Afterward, he was entirely convinced his family thought he was off his rocker, but Myron actually began encouraging him to practice his knot tying whenever he would drift too far into his thoughts.

For his family understood that Finnick was fragile, just as Mags did.

Unlike Mags, they believed his worst nightmare was behind him.

* * *

A week before he turned sixteen, Finnick received a special invitation. President Snow was throwing a party in his honor on the day he turned sixteen. His presence was demanded.

"It's okay Finnick," His mother told him, though she was clearly disappointed. "We'll just celebrate when you return. Then you'll have something to look forward to." She leaned into his ear and stage-whispered, "I'm baking a chocolate cake!"

"He's going to be so overstuffed with Capitol crap, he won't have room for any of our humble District Four cake." Ribbed Myron as he shouldered playfully past Finnick. "You spoiled son-of-a-bitch."

"Myron!" Their mother scolded, turning to her eldest with a glare.

Myron amended his statement. "You spoiled son-of-an-angel." Their mother rolled her eyes as Myron gave her an angelic smile of his own. "When I turned sixteen I got a new spear. You're going to get the Capitol on a silver platter."

"That would have to be a hell of a platter." Finnick screwed up his eyes, as if he were trying to envision it. "Some of them do dress like oversized sweets. Last time I was at a banquet, I started to cut a slice of cake before I realized I was holding a butter knife to a woman's dress!"

His mother swatted him with a dishcloth while Myron roared with laughter.

That was the last time Finnick remembered being truly happy with his family.

Mags had been called away for business in District Two so Finnick found himself riding the train alone to the Capitol for the first time. Dora was assigned to show him around, his prep team scraped him down to nothing and Arnavi wrapped him in expensive silk. Other than their sad excuse for company, he was completely alone until his party.

It was an extravagant affair: nearly as explosive and decadent as his Victory party. This time there was no Mags ushering him about so Finnick wandered freely and confusedly. Everyone was grabbing his arm for his attention: so many voices chimed with cries of, "Happy Birthday!" At first he didn't recognize the cake for what it was: the sculpture of waves crashing against a cliff while a lone figure stood triumphantly above certainly did not look edible. In spite of his hesitance, Finnick cut the first slice and ate it, figuring this was the closest he would get to the sea on this birthday.

That realization made his homesickness sink in further. He began accepting the fizzy drinks from strangers and actually downing them, rather than slyly setting them aside as Mags taught him. His thoughts slowed down and the unbearable heaviness that had settled on him since he won his Games lifted. He was genuinely laughing now, unable to understand why he had been so disgusted with the Capitol before. It was so much less harsh than home, warmer and brighter. No one avoided him: everyone sought him out. This was his party; he was the center of attention. Soon he wasn't able to follow the conversation at all, so he filled the gaps with chuckles and smiles.

When the woman with the black nails pulled him away from the party, he accepted the acid green drink she held out to him between her talons. His brain almost seemed to go backward once he finished it and he blinked, unable to understand how he went from the middle of a cheering crowd to a dark, private room. She pushed him onto the bed, her nails leaving marks on his shoulders. It reminded Finnick of the bruises Yvonne gave him the night before the Games and he squinted uncomfortably, trying to sort through his thoughts. Her lips trailed down his bare chest. As her mouth went lower and disappeared under the fabric, he twitched his hands in a feeble attempt to move them. His mind was working slowly yet quickly all at once and his killer-honed instincts were telling him that he was vulnerable while his sane mind idly wondered why.

She moved upward again and kissed him fully on the mouth. In that moment she became Yvonne and Finnick mustered the energy to turn his head to the side in refusal.

"No," He croaked, his voice so pathetic it must have come from another person. The woman with the black nails laughed carelessly and kissed him again, her hands sliding down his side. One of them found just the right fold of fabric and tugged.

Finnick felt himself unravel.

* * *

There were weights pulling down his eyelids. That was the only explanation for why wrenching his eyes open was more difficult than any feat of strength he had achieved in the arena. At first he thought he was in the ocean, the sensation of salt beneath his eyelashes and the corner of his eyes was so familiar. His stomach was turning rapidly and his body felt stiff, disjointed. But the material beneath him felt soft and airy against his naked back.

Naked.

Why was he naked?

This curious thought gave him the strength the open his eyes. He could see sand nearby, reaffirming his earlier belief. Had he been in a storm and washed ashore? No, he was definitely not lying in a bed of gritty sand. The room came into focus and he saw now that the sand was the image of sifting sand dunes projected into a window. He was in the Capitol. Why did he feel so sick? Why did his muscles ache with protest when he moved them? Why was there salt on his eyelashes?

He'd been crying when he fell asleep.

He moved his head to the side and jerked sharply. A woman was lying there, her arm draped lazily over him: he hadn't even noticed it until he moved, his nerves were so shot. She was still asleep and he could see strange black spider webs tattooed onto her eyelids. Everything about her was the deepest obsidian, besides her icy white skin – she was a study in contrast. In her own exotic and strange way she wasn't hideous, but she made Finnick's skin crawl. She was Capitol and her hand was cold where it touched his arm. She was a stranger.

His stomach turned again, more insistent this time and Finnick couldn't suppress the urge. He rolled off the bed, crouched down on his knees and vomited all over the floor.

"What-?" The sound of his retching woke the woman up and panicked, Finnick saw his outfit from the night before, completely unmade into a simple sheet of silk. He grabbed it and wrapped it around him, covering his modestly pointlessly. He could smell it in the air, in the bed, on the silk, on him. It smelled of those hidden moments in his bedroom and his bathroom back home, when he gave into his carnal desires and touched himself.

It smelled of sex.

He threw up again. The woman jumped out of bed. The sight of her black fingernails triggered his memory and he felt them running down his back. More vomit.

"Ugh, get out!" She screamed, recoiling from the vomit pooling on her pearly white carpet. "Out, out, out!"

Finnick wrapped himself in the silk, unsure how to fasten it correctly but suddenly wanting to cover as much of himself as possible. He fled the room, unsure where he was and where he should go. The Peacekeepers waiting by the outside helped direct him.

Right into President Snow's office.

He stood there, shivering, the thin cloth wrapped around him like a towel and smelling of puke while the President of Panem sat at his desk signing a few papers. After some of the most uncomfortable moments of Finnick's life, he finally looked up. "Have a seat, Mr. Odair," he said, as if this were a just a regular business meeting and Finnick hadn't been dragged there wearing next to nothing.

Finnick sat down, trying to catch up. The world was moving too fast – there had been a party, he had woken up in a stranger's bed, he had been vomiting and now he was sitting with the President – and he just wished it would slow down.

"Did you have a fun party?"

He looked down at his disheveled state. Had he? It certainly didn't feel fun, but he knew from Myron how people were often the most miserable after a night of reckless abandon. "I don't remember." He whispered, lips swollen and stinging.

Snow laughed. It was a cold laugh. "Yes, that can often be a side-effect of excessive inebriation. You'll find ways to adapt and cope, I have no doubt."

Finnick had many doubts about that statement. The first of which being he doubted he would ever drink alcohol again. "Mr. President, why am I here?" He asked carefully, remembering the chilling conversation they'd had after his Games and feeling wary.

"Most people believe winning the Games is about cunning and strength." Snow told him. "The smart Tributes realize the most important tool is popularity. Career Tributes are coached in the art of gaining the audience's favor for at least two years before they're recommended to volunteer." Finnick knew this. It was part of Training – a part he'd never participated in because he was Reaped so early. "That is half of the reason they are favored to win. The other half is their skills and viciousness in combat. You were quite skilled in the Games, Mr. Odair. But you and I both know your success was based almost entirely on your popularity." He gave Finnick a knowing look. Finnick nodded in agreement. "That trident was the most expensive gift ever granted to a Tribute." Finnick had not known that. Why hadn't Mags told him? "In my entire tenure as President, I've never seen someone gain so much favor within the Capitol. And so naturally."

The back of Finnick's neck heated up. "Um, I'm not sure how naturally–"

Snow waved him off. "I was not born yesterday. Tributes lie to gain Sponsors. They put on masks and airs. But – since I feel like we can be honest with each other – it wasn't your personality that gained you fans. It was your looks."

And there it was. It was finally out there. Nobody wanted Finnick. They wanted Finnick's body.

"All right, if we're being honest," Finnick pulled the sheet tighter around his body. "I'm not comfortable being objectified like that."

Objectified. That was one of the words Mags would use when she was scolding Arnavi.

"Dear boy, this conversation has nothing to do with your comfort level." Snow drummed his fingers against the desk. "This is about what the public wants. And what the public wants is you. Do you remember the conversation we had last year, after your Victory?"

"Yes." Snow's implied threat was permanently imprinted in his brain.

"It is time for you to pay back your debt to the Capitol, just as we discussed."

Finnick furrowed his brow. "I thought I was already doing that – keeping the people happy."

Snow shook his head. "You naïve child. The people need more than just smiles and interviews to keep them happy. They don't want to settle for simply seeing and hearing – they want to touch, smell, taste … And if they happen to provide the Capitol with a generous donation, what kind of leader would I be to deny them of such pleasures?"

The words were rolling around within his aching mind. _Touch, smell, taste, donation, pleasures…_ "You're not talking about sex." It sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth. The President didn't care about Finnick's sex life. He was talking about some new propaganda ad, or a party.

"Of course I am." Snow told him, derailing Finnick's train of thought. "I have been receiving requests for an evening with you since you won your Games. I told them they would have to wait, of course – you were a child then. But now you are an adult, and you can fulfill your duties to the Capitol."

There were so many things wrong with what Snow said – the assumption he would ever sleep with one of his disturbing admirers, the knowledge that they had wanted to do so since he was fourteen, the fact that the President was even discussing this with Finnick in the first place. "I'm still a child," Finnick fixated on desperately. He'd murdered seven other children, owned a house and boat of his own, and apparently had lost his virginity. None of those things made him an adult.

It was as if Snow could read his mind. "Not with regard to sexual activities and the law. And not with regard to your sexual experience."

"But I _lied_." They had already been over this, hadn't they? "I never did any of those things, I never actually…"

"You didn't have sex last night?" Snow raised his eyebrows. On anyone else it would be an expression of good humor. On him it was terrifying.

Finnick pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. He didn't even care that he was losing his composure in front of Snow; it was obvious to both of them that this conversation was rapidly slipping out of Finnick's control. "I don't know…" He confessed, fingers threading through his curls. He'd drank so much last night, all of them blurred together. Red drinks, pink drinks, blue drinks, yellow drinks…one acid green drink stood out amongst the crowd. He remembered the odd way it bubbled, how he hadn't seen anyone else holding one. Black claws offered it to him while drinking a yellow drink of her own.

"Well I can assure you that you did, Mr. Odair."

Snow's certainty left no room for doubt. There had been Peacekeepers at the door in the morning. The party was in the President's mansion, and the woman with the black nails had guided him to the room so easily. A flash of memory. There were Peacekeepers at the door _before _they went into the room. And one of them nodded at the woman with the black nails. They had been standing on either side of the door, in exactly the same position they had been in the morning. Like they were standing guard. Like they knew he was coming.

"You knew…" Finnick whispered. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. "You knew she was going to take me to that room. How did you know before it even happened?"

Snow spoke slowly, as if he were explaining arithmetic to a simpleton. "Your client requested a private room in the mansion for her night with you and paid extra for it. Naturally, I was obliging."

_Client. Paid. _Finnick was cold. His fingers began to tremble and turn white. "She _paid _for me? You _sold _me?" The words were so foreign on his lips. You paid for and sold fish at the market. Fruit. Lovely decorations to put in your house. Objects.

"Yes." Snow seemed pleased that he was grasping the concept. "It is an arrangement I am happy to make with popular and attractive Victors with whom wealthy patrons have an interest in. Your client from last night was extremely impatient to get your hands on you and offered more money to spend the night with you as soon as you turned sixteen. You had made quite the impression on her, as well as many others." He observed Finnick through narrowed eyes, taking in his clenched jaw. "Don't look so upset. Aside from the opportunity to share the company of the most famous and wealthy people in Panem, Victors are compensated for their time. The majority of the cost goes to the Capitol of course, as payment for the generosity we provided for you and will continue to provide for you over the years. But Victors do receive a ten percent cut." He pulled out an envelope from a pile of papers on his desk and pushed it toward Finnick. "I think you'll find the rewards well worth your efforts. Most Victors do."

Finnick stared at the envelope. Inside was a tenth of the monetary value for a fuck with him. As soon as that thought crossed his mind he crumpled the envelope up with a scream of fury, tearing it into pieces and throwing them around the room. A fuck. A paid for transaction. That's what losing his virginity was.

"Mr. Odair," Snow's voice cut through his attack of rage. "If you are going to continue your temper-tantrum, I'm sure the Peacekeepers outside would be more than happy to teach you how to behave."

He sank back down to the chair, breathing heavily through his nostrils. "Temper-tantrum?" He demanded as loudly as he could without screaming. "You sold me! Without my consent! I–" Another flashback. Tears. Unable to move. The feeling of indescribable shame. "I said no!" He remembered. "I told her no, but I couldn't move and…you _sold _me."

"I think we are both well aware that I sold you at this point." Snow's voice was dry, as if they were having a normal conversation rather than discussing how he had whored Finnick to a stranger without his knowledge or consent. "And I'm sure if you had been less inebriated you would not have said 'no.' Your client was reasonably attractive and quite famous in Capitol circles. A connection to her would be quite advantageous for you."

Finnick didn't understand why Snow was treating the situation like this, as if it were something completely practical instead of totally immoral and despicable. "I don't want connections!" His voice was quivering. It was pathetic. "I don't care what she looked like! I'm not your Capitol whore and I never will be. You can keep your fucking money."

There was a shift in President Snow's expression. "Then I will." He told Finnick. "And I will consider your contributions to the Capitol as a gift made from gratitude. Life in the Districts is terribly dangerous, you must understand. And District Four with its proximity to the ocean is one of the most dangerous of all. All of Panem would mourn with you if you lost your mother and your brother." He paused to let that sink in. "So do we have a deal, Finnick?"

Somehow it was the use of his first name that made his situation so unbelievably clear to Finnick. The President of Panem had sold him last night like a slave. He planned on doing so again an uncertain amount of times. If Finnick refused, his loved ones would die.

He looked up from his knotted hands and realized he was looking into the eyes of the Devil. The Devil who's wrinkled hand was extended in a gesture that was meant to be an offer but was truthfully a demand.

He took the hand and shook it, "Yes."

* * *

As it turned out, a deal with the Devil had a few stipulations.

The first was that Finnick was expected to travel to the Capitol when he was summoned and leave when he was dismissed, no questions asked. Unlike his previous visits there was to be little fuss and fanfare about them unless otherwise specified. Such trips were 'business trips' and he would refer to them as such when anyone asked.

The second was that Finnick was to stay in an apartment the Capitol provided him with during these visits, rather than the Remake Center as he had previously been doing. This was in case any of his clients wanted to keep their encounter private and secretive – typically because they were married and not in an open relationship.

The third was that he was not allowed to reveal the true nature of his duties to the Capitol to anyone. Prostitution was illegal. Technically Panem was a democratic state, though the only citizens with the power to vote were Capitol citizens. And even though they were decadent, corrupt and filled with disregard for human life, most Capitol citizens were against prostitution. Not only would an attempt to life the prostitution ban never pass, but it would also be horrible publicity for the Capitol if they attempted to take a pro-prostitution stance. So it was a secret that only the wealthiest and most corrupt citizens were privy to.

And Finnick.

Snow had mentioned other Victors, and Finnick's spent hours speculating on their identities. Who else was there? And were they all coerced, or did they actually do it for the money? He desperately needed someone to turn to, since Snow promised death to anyone who learned this terrible secret between the two of them. Finnick spent hours tying and untying knots in his bedroom when he was home, unable to face his mother and Myron. His greatest fear was that they would see his poorly hidden horror and unearth the truth. After a few weeks of being home, Finnick realized they thought being in the Capitol made him relive the trauma of his games. He was experiencing a type of cruelty neither of them could fathom. With this realization came the burden of responsibility and the understanding that their innocence was a precious gift. For once innocence was taken it could never be regained.

He wrestled with himself for over a month before Mags finally arrived home. Finnick waited a day before nonchalantly telling his mother he planned to take Mags on a walk down the shore. She greeted him with a kiss to the cheek and he welcomed her with a quick hug. They strolled down along the water in complete silence, giving off the impression of two people who needed nothing more than the other's presence to be content. They walked until they reached a secluded cove far away from the docks and the swimming beaches.

When Finnick turns to Mags, she already had tears in her eyes. "Oh my sweet boy," She asked him, touching his face gently. "What did they do to you?"

He responded by collapsing to the ground with an anguished scream, finally releasing the wrath and hurt he'd shown Snow a glimpse of in the President's office. He cried and rocked on his knees, fingers kneading his hair desperately, pulling on it. Maybe if he pulled it all out, he wouldn't be pretty anymore. Maybe if he were damaged goods they would leave him alone.

But Snow would know and would punish him for it, through Myron and his mother. Snow knew everything.

So he let Mags patch him back together with her gentle words and worried caresses. He leaned against her as if she were a crutch and allowed her to keep him alive.

* * *

They received an official letter from President Snow, in the form of a contract. Finnick was required to act as a mentor for the next fifteen Games. Finnick was required to do whatever President Snow decided on a whim, so the contract was simply for show. One legal document of many the Capitol could hold up for justification if they ever decided to punish him publicly.

"Cheer up, Finn, this is a good thing." Myron told him as they helped the rest of the fishing crew cast off from the docks. Finnick had grown increasingly paranoid and refused to let his family do anything remotely risky without him there to keep an eye out. This included accompanying Myron on his fishing trips, despite the crew's obvious discontent with his presence. He didn't give a shit about their opinions anymore. "It means you're seen as valuable. And maybe you can give some poor kid a chance of coming home."

The poor kid that year was named Dauntless Riveria, which sounded so Capitol he could have blended seamlessly into the public sphere if he became a Victor. He did not. He was killed in his sleep on Day Four, while Finnick was tracing the inside of a woman's vagina with his tongue. When he returned to the Training Center, his fellow District Four mentor Freya chastised him in front of all the other mentors.

"Your Tribute is dead." She told him bluntly while he struggled to keep her in focus. The strange drugs his client made him take were taking a toll on his vision. "If you'd been here instead of off fucking, you could have sent him a parachute to wake him up and warn him." She paused before adding spitefully, "And you have cum on your chin."

He chest tightened. "You could try to contain your jealousy, Freya." His voice flowed smoothly past his lips. "Dauntless was never going to make it. He was just an idiot with grandiose ideas about glory."

It was true. Dauntless had volunteered before Dora could finish announcing the original Tribute's name and strutted to the front like a peacock. He had cared nothing for anything Finnick said to him – Finnick was, after all, a year younger – and only focused on the fighting training rather than the survival skills. He was completely idiotic and oblivious: two terrible traits for a Tribute. Finnick watched him waste a lifetime's earning's worth of gifts in the arena, through stumbles and gaffs that led to him not noticing the parachutes raining down from the sky or allowing his competitors to get to them first. When he re-watched the Games Finnick saw that Dauntless was in a starved, thirsty, sleep-deprived coma when he fell asleep for the final time. No parachute would have been able to wake him up.

Still, Dauntless joined the ever-growing cast of figures who haunted his dreams.

* * *

Once Dauntless was dead, Finnick had no reason to be in the Capitol aside from sex. So his appointments were lined up, some as many as three in a night. The day after Dauntless was dead, Finnick received a summons to the President's office. He was still young, not yet seventeen, so he dared to hope. He hoped that Dauntless's death made the President realize Finnick wasn't cut out to be a mentor He hoped that the President realized Finnick couldn't mentor and service clients at the same time. He hoped that the President would tell him his popularity had dwindled and the Capitol had no interest in him anymore.

"Your performances have been disappointing." Snow said instead, not waiting for Finnick to sit down. "We've received a few negative reports from clients who were unsatisfied with their experience. They claimed you were unenthusiastic and one said that you cried. You made your clients feel unappreciated, sad and even guilty. I called you here as a friendly reminder that the safety of your family is a privilege, not a right, and can be changed on a whim. That's all." And he returned to the tea he was sipping.

Finnick became careful. He made sure to smile whenever his clients were looking at his face and kept his voice low and sultry. He asked them what they wanted him to do to them, disguising his inexperience as a need to please. He learned that even when he felt like gagging, retching or pulling a face he just needed to keep the corners of his mouth turned up; that way even his most revolted face would come off as a smirk. He forced his eyes to rove the bodies that were displayed shamelessly before him, rather than averting his face. He talked to them before, during and after. One woman was so pleased with his company she gave him a ruby the size of his big toe. It was precious, undeniably so, but Finnick slipped it into the trash discreetly in the Training Center when he returned. He couldn't bear the sight of it.

On the last night, he had memorized the act. This was his last client, the last ordeal before he could return home. Before he could return to the family he had literally shielded with his body. He had only been playing this role for a few weeks but he already knew that his clients could be divided into two kinds. The first were the types who were gaudy and exhibitionists. They rented him for a party, talked with him, danced with him and left publicly with them. They were the ones the media took attention to, publically known as his "lovers." As much as he was looking forward to going home, Finnick was dreading having to explain the situation to his mother. The thought of extending his playboy act even when he was at home made his stomach turn.

The second were types who, for some reason or another, wanted their rendezvous to remain private. Maybe they couldn't afford the price for a public outing with him, maybe they had a spouse or lover who would be jealous, or maybe they were only interested in a quick fuck. Something akin to optimism inside Finnick wondered if maybe they knew deep down what they were doing was wrong and they felt shame over it. Regardless, he preferred the private meetings to the public ones. They were quicker, required less talking on his part and there was no messy publicity. In and out.

His last client had requested a private meeting. Two Peacekeepers escorted Finnick to a lovely little town home and relayed the instructions that he was to wait on the bed before they went to stand at the front door. There were always Peacekeepers near Finnick when he met with clients and he had no idea if they were for his clients' protection or his own.

The room was dark so he turned on a few strategic dim lights that would shine on the bed as if it were a stage. Finnick undressed himself and lay naked on the bed while he waited. More than anything, he hated the way his clients' clumsy fingers took away his clothes while their little mouths squealed like they were unwrapping a present. Also, the sight of his naked body lying in wait for her was likely to make his client hornier faster. In the past few weeks he'd learned what foreplay was and knew it was the key to a satisfied customer. It was also his least favorite part because it required far more acting and attention to his faux-lover than he wanted to give. So he was going to make this one quick.

In and out.

Sell it.

The door creaked open and Finnick adjusted his pose so he was lying on his side, his left arm draped casually on his thigh. "I've been waiting for you." He said to the darkness in his best sensual voice, which was sounding more real and less like a child playing pretend with every encounter.

There was a deep intake of breath and a figure stepped into the light. It was a man whose age was indeterminable, like so many Capitol citizens. He wore bright colors to accompany his shockingly green hair while his skin was pulled back in the unnatural way that marked an older person who underwent enhancements to appear young again.

Finnick only had a brief moment to take this information in before he panicked, pulling the covers he was lying on top of around him. What was this man doing here? Was he a lover, a husband? Why would the Peacekeepers have allowed him in?

"What are you doing?" The man asked him, amusement coating his voice. Finnick was used to his rare bursts of modesty providing amusement for the shameless people of the Capitol. Still, he sounded far too amused for a man who'd found another man – a boy, really – in his lover's bed. So maybe he was a government official, here to tell Finnick the appointment had been cancelled. Or maybe he and his lover had an extremely open relationship.

"Um, I…" Finnick found himself grasping for words. "Who are you?"

"Paprik." The man replied, stepping closer and taking off his jacket. His eyes were hungry. "And you are Finnick. Our names rhyme, isn't that fun?" There was something extremely childlike in his voice, a certain kind of innocence Finnick had only heard from ordinary citizens of the Capitol. Most government officials were far more slippery and frightening. However Finnick did indeed feel frightened of Paprik as he moved closer to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding." Finnick protested, shrinking back. "I'm, um, supposed to be waiting for somebody."

Paprik laughed, as if Finnick had just told him a marvelous joke. "Oh, aren't you coy. Mafalda mentioned you were wonderfully funny when she recommended you."

Mafalda. He had serviced her a week ago. She recommended him to Paprik. Paprik was the client.

Finnick slid off the other side of the bed, wrapping the covers around him even more securely. "Okay, there's definitely been a misunderstanding." He told Paprik, who was giving him a bemused half-smile. "I don't…I'm not supposed to…" His deal with Snow flashed in his mind. He'd said 'women,' right? He was supposed to entertain and sleep with women. That was his job.

Except Finnick couldn't recall President Sow ever specifically saying 'women.'

"Oh, this shy act is fun too, but I've had a long day at work and don't really have a lot of time to waste." Paprik was saying, his shirt fully off now. His stomach and chest were pale and soft, the sign of someone who'd never done a day of real work in his life. He started to go around the bed as he unbuckled his pants.

Panic. That was what caused Finnick to dive across the bed, grab his pants and run. Paprik gave a shout of surprise and started to go after him, but Finnick turned and decked him fully across the face. Paprik fell to the ground almost comically and touched his bloody lip. Finnick didn't waste another second staring at him. He pulled on his pants and secured them before bolting out of the room. There were voices coming up the stairs and he vaguely recognized them as the Peacekeepers. They must have heard the commotion and were coming to see what was wrong. It made Finnick wonder what other noises they heard when they were guarding him. He sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction that he'd come looking for another way out. There was only one set of stairs and the Peacekeepers were thundering up it. Finnick opened a door and flung himself in the room, locking it behind him. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run…the window on the other side of the room caught his attention. It was made from real glass, not a force field. He ran to it and looked down. It was two stories high. The Peacekeepers were banging on the door now. Finnick grabbed a lovely wooden chair and bashed the window with it. The first time the glass cracked. The second time it shattered. There was shouting behind the door and suddenly the door was knocked completely off its hinges. Finnick climbed onto the window ledge, he was almost there, almost free.

As he jumped, one of the Peacekeepers caught him and pulled him back inside, kicking and screaming. He screamed and screamed at them while they beat him down with their batons, until a blow to his ribcage made it difficult to breathe. They tied his hands behind his wrists so he couldn't lash out anymore and forced him to his knees.

Paprik came into the room, his lip swollen and tears staining his synthetic cheeks. "Oh no!" He gasped in dismay upon seeing the state of the room: the knocked-down door, the destroyed window, the scratched chair. "Oh, this is absolutely horrible!"

"The Capitol sincerely apologizes." The Peacekeeper to Finnick's right said. "You will be refunded for your purchase and compensated for any damage caused during this encounter. You will also receive additional compensation for your trouble in exchange for not divulging the events of this encounter to anyone."

They were bribing Paprik to keep his mouth shut. Finnick's head swam as he thought about the money the Capitol would lose because of his actions. Snow was not going to be happy. Snow was going to be furious.

Yet in his dazed and half-conscious state, Finnick was relieved. He was not going to sleep with Paprik. Thank god.

Paprik pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well yes, of course I would like my transaction refunded, this has been an absolute nightmare." He touched his lip again. Finnick wondered how many seconds he would last in the Games. "But this chair was absolutely priceless – hand-crafted by the best chair maker in District Seven. I'm afraid there will be no replacing it."

The Peacekeeper replied stoically, "The Capitol will do what it can to make sure you are properly compensated. Have a good evening." He and the other Peacekeeper picked Finnick up by his arms and began dragging him out the door.

"Wait!" Paprik called, looking nervous and twitchy. There was something else in his eyes, something unreadable. "Since the chair was irreplaceable, perhaps for my additional compensation I could still receive my purchase while also having it refunded? It would only be fair."

Shit. Finnick looked up at the Peacekeeper to his right, silently begging him to say no. The Peacekeeper didn't look down as he answered, "Such a trade would be seen as acceptable. The Capitol's only fear is for your safety."

"Oh, nonsense." Paprik brushed him off, though there was a trace of fear on his face. "As long as he is restrained, I should be perfectly safe. And maybe you could stand outside the door?" He added. Finnick was strongly reminded of a child asking his parents if he could sleep in their bed after a nightmare.

This all certainly felt like a nightmare to Finnick. He wished the Peacekeepers had beaten him more, until he was unconscious or maybe even dead. Yes, dead would have been better.

"Very well." The Peacekeeper's words broke Finnick and he began struggling feebly while they dragged him to Paprik's room. He growled and swore, snarling like a wild animal when they threw him facedown onto the bed.

"Get the fuck _off me_!" He pleaded, voice breaking while they pulled off his pants, meticulously fastening his bound hands to the headboard and tying each ankle to a different spot on the baseboard. Then he lay there, shivering and cursing, spread out in preparation. He had never been more afraid in his life.

"Would you like us to gag him?" The lead Peacekeeper asked Paprik.

"No, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you…" Paprik's voice was squeaky and nervous. There was also a coat of excitement.

Because Paprik was bored with his safe life and the feeling of Finnick's fist against his lip was the most exhilarating experience he'd ever had. And that night he discovered that while his fumbles beneath the sheets with friends and consenting lovers were fun and pleasant, nothing made him feel more alive than the danger of an unwilling lover. So even years later when Finnick knew how to be with a man and make him feel safe, desired and warm, Paprik would demand that they play a game, hoping to catch some of the magic he'd felt when he dominated a terrified boy for the first time, his screams ringing in the air.

Finnick always loathed when Paprik rented him, not just because of the horrific memories of their first time together. It was also because as he lay there, gasping against the pillow he'd tried and failed to smother himself with, Finnick realized something. That even though the pain was completely different from every fuck he'd shared with a woman, the feeling of queasy horror and shame was absolutely the same. It was all the same.

It was then that Finnick decided that if he could ever get out of this nightmare he'd been forced into, he'd never have sex again.

* * *

The most horrible thing about Paprik was that in the moment of near-escape, Finnick had known he was dooming his family to death. The knowledge had knocked him in the back of his brain, screaming _Go back, go back, what are you doing? _But his body had taken control and there was no stopping it. All that mattered was not sleeping with Paprik, not a man get anywhere near his body.

The most horrible thing about Paprik was that it had all been for nothing.

He did not escape. Paprik fucked him until he couldn't feel anything and then lay down beside Finnick. Finnick lay away the entire night trying to twist his hands out of the ties so that he could strangle the hateful, pathetic man. The knots were too tangled and he couldn't find the right loop or strand. He lay there awake knowing in his heart that his family was going to die. There was no such thing as optimism in Finnick's world. There would not be for a long time.

He was sent straight home, riding the train home with Freya who shook her head at his beaten state. He told her the lie a stranger had handed to him on a plastic card. He was mugged. They ganged up on him and beat him down. Fortunately some Peacekeepers were around the corner so they arrested the criminals.

Freya shook her head in disgust. "Some Victor." She never talked to him again.

There was no family to greet him at home. Finnick didn't expect there to be. Instead there were a few Peacekeepers there, to tell him the tragic news. His mother and Myron had been out on _Sirena_ when they hit a reef and drowned. The funeral was small, just Finnick, Mags, a few of his mother's friends and some of the fishermen Myron helped out. Paul Duquette, one of the few fishermen who'd actually been friendly to Finnick when he tagged along, pulled him aside afterward and spoke nervously.

"It's a bit odd, isn't it?" Paul whispered. "The ocean was so calm that day. Myron was amazing swimmer – he was knocked off the boat during a hurricane and survived for an hour in the water before he was able to climb back on. And he mentioned your mom hadn't been on a boat since your dad died."

This was all true. Finnick fixed a sad look on his face and rested his hand on Paul's shoulder. "Sometimes accidents happen. Even the best swimmers can drown." He looked Paul evenly in the eye. "Especially if they ask too many questions." He hoped Paul would understand his warning and let matters lie.

He moved past Paul and headed toward Mags, who took the arm he offered and patted it gratefully. After he took her home, Finnick walked down the path leading to the main road of Victor's Village. There was something green and white lying in the middle of the path, something that hadn't been there before. As he approached, he saw that it was a flower. Who would leave Mags a flower? Once he was close enough to see what it was, Finnick halted in his tracks.

It was a white rose.

He'd only seen one of them before, on Snow's lapel. This one was frighteningly similar. And there was a note attached. Finnick reached down and removed the note.

_Keep your head down and she'll keep hers._

Icy fear travelled down his spine. They wouldn't hurt Mags, would they? She was a Victor; there would be too many questions. Except no, she was an _old _Victor. If she simply didn't wake up one morning, there would be no questions. No one would care. No one aside from Finnick.

Finnick was the only person who cared about Mags. Mags was the only person who cared about Finnick. She was his entire family now. He would do anything to keep her safe.

And Snow knew it.

* * *

Despite his continued insistence on her staying safe, Mags volunteered to mentor alongside Finnick for three consecutive years. It was a relief and a burden. Unlike Freya or the other Victors, Mags knew that he had no choice but to leave when he was summoned. She saw the unease and panic he tried to hide, which was a blessing and a curse. She covered for him and picked up the slack with whatever Tribute he was assigned to. She also gave him worried looks and constantly asked about his wellbeing. Finnick was ninety-five percent sure Mags knew the situation he was in. He chose to live in the five percent of uncertainty, where his grief was his alone.

He learned who some of the other Victors who sold their bodies were. They were all from District One, where the most beautiful and greedy Victors lived. They were in it for the money and the opportunity for greater fame. If any of them were like him, their masks were even better than his, for he could not pick them out. And judging from the media and gossip, no other Victor took so many 'lovers' as he. To his dismay, Finnick found the public's fascination with him rising rather than diminishing as he grew older. He was beautiful enough to turn the head of any male, yet masculine enough for any woman. Among the Victors he was unique, therefore he was the most popular.

Eventually Finnick gave up trying to find a Victor who could understand his grief. The naïve Victors thought him a spoiled playboy, the more informed believed he chose his path. By the age of nineteen he was renowned in Panem as a sexual deviant and generally considered a terrible mentor by all the other Victors. District Four had not won a Game since Finnick was crowned.

When anyone questioned him, Finnick waved them off and said the other Tributes were stronger, that he and his Tributes had worked as hard as they could. His Tributes were all Careers with glory-hungry eyes. They threw themselves into their training and gathering sponsors. Angelique Charon was trapped under a fallen rock that crushed her leg and was given a mercy killing by a boy from District Seven two days later. Gregor Underwood, Finnick's old friend, allied with the Career pack and was killed on the last day. Technically, he placed third. His clients that night congratulated him on his achievement.

Mags didn't even question him when he returned to the Training Center that night and vomited until he was retching blood.

Dauntless, Angelique and Gregor would have all made better Victors than Finnick. They would have wanted the attention, loved the finery around them. Mags's Tributes were the same. All Careers, all volunteers. They were bloodthirsty, greedy and cruel. Yet at the end of their lives, they were all the same: broken children, just wanting the pain to end.

The children in District Four must have seen the pain, understood on some level the pointlessness of it all. The suffering was not worth the glory. The glamor of Finnick's win wore off and they were on a losing streak. It was even worse for the girls: District Four's last female Victor had been Freya in the 57th Hunger Games. That must have been why when Annie Crest –who was lovely and kind and obviously had never set foot in Training – was Reaped for the 70th Games, no one volunteered. No one made a sound.

She was older than Finnick had been – sixteen, seventeen probably – yet seemed far smaller. Despite her willowy figure her presence was tiny and terrified. Finnick realized that she was crying and wanted to shake her. District Four Tributes never cried. They were a Career District. They had a _reputation _to maintain and her tears would make it harder for future Tributes to gain any respect.

Then again, she probably didn't care about respect for future Tributes. She was not going to survive.

Mags would scold him for writing off a Tribute so early, but there was no denying the facts. The boy that year, now there was a Tribute with a chance at winning. He volunteered readily and clearly. Triston Eldale. Finnick remembered him from Training. Triston had been two years beneath him, but had heard the rumblings even back before he was Reaped. Triston was strong, clever, brave, powerful and quick. He was everything Myron was supposed to have been. Except, clearly, he did not have Myron's heart and wisdom, otherwise he would not have volunteered. Only fools volunteered.

"I'll take the boy." Mags told him and Finnick didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated. He _had _told her he was tired of fools volunteering to die, but she was saddling him with a Tribute who would never win.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. He wouldn't feel so guilty when he was called away. Maybe she would be killed at the Cornucopia and wouldn't have to suffer. He looked at the Reaping Stage and in the moment Annie turned her weeping eyes to him. Yes, it was certainly for the best, for everyone.

After all, it was better to be dead than a Victor

* * *

A/N: Like I said, there's probably going to be a part two. It may not be as long, it may be even longer. We'll see.

In the meantime, enjoy the bit of humor I've provided for you below!

Sunspell's Hunger Games Review:

I thought it was really excellent. They stuck to the book wonderfully, probably because the book lent itself so well to a movie adaptation. Jennifer Lawrence was a star. It was awkward how much shorter Josh was than Jen, but he managed to compensate for it with his charm. The costumes and scenery were magnificent and all the supporting characters really gave it their all. Clove scared me to death. The shaky-cam gave me a headache and I was glad they didn't use it throughout the whole move. 4/5 stars.

Sunspell's Catching Fire Review:

_**FINNICK!**_ 20/5 stars

* * *

Edit 1/2/14: I decided for creative purposes for Finnick to not identify what was happening to him as rape, mostly because it makes more sense with the confusion that happens to him in the later chapters. If he just thinks of it as sex and doesn't distinguish the two, it makes it harder for him to cope. Learning to differentiate rape and sex would actually be a rather powerful coping strategy for him, so I don't want to throw that away lightly.


	2. Part Two

A/N: So this isn't all of it, this is just part of the rest. Obviously it is much shorter than Part One, but the only reason Part One was so long was because I was without internet access for days. I figured since I had internet access, I might as well upload reasonable sized segments once I finished them.

Warning: Most swearing, and a few sexual references

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Part Two

* * *

Triston and Annie were sitting at the extravagant dining table when Finnick and Mags joined them. Triston was board-straight, like a soldier at attention with both his hands down at his sides. Annie was chewing slowly on a roll, her eyes fixing on the Victors as they entered.

"Hello Annie and Triston," He addressed them. "I'm Finnick and this is Mags. We're going to be your mentors during the Games. When we get to the Capitol, we'll be giving you advice on your training and how to present yourself in order to get sponsors." In the background he could hear the faint sound of Mags's stomach growling and realized she hadn't eaten since before the Reaping. He pulled out the chair across from Tristan and eased her into it, before sitting down and helping himself to some smoked salmon on a bagel.

There was little noise in the compartment aside from the clink of silverware as Finnick and Mags pilled food onto their plates, Annie's soft chewing and the sound of Triston agitatedly drumming his fingers against his leg. Finally, he snapped. "Aren't you going to give us any advice now?"

Finnick felt a jolt of annoyance. The train ride was supposed to be his transition back to the hellish world of the Capitol. Triston's impatience was already getting on his nerves, and he thanked Mags's wisdom for suggesting they switch. "Sure," He told Triston. "My advice is to eat while you can. And if Dora starts to tell you about the party with the pig, divert the conversation immediately. Mags, can you pass the tomatoes?"

"Did I hear something about a pig?" Dora's voice drifted through the train toward them. She had not, to her chagrin, been promoted. Finnick didn't tell her, but it was likely his fault. He figured Snow did not want too many Capitolites getting to know him on a personal level. Over the years he'd come to foster a strange affection for Dora. She was vapid, ridiculous and selfish, but she was far more tolerable than any other Capitolite he'd ever met. As she walked into the room, he found himself smiling at her see-weed wrap dress. He'd seen it from a distance on the Reaping Stage, but it was something else entirely up close.

He shook his head. "Oh don't worry, I already relayed the entire story of the party with the pig to our new Tributes, they're up to speed now. Right guys?" Triston blinked and stared at Finnick as if he'd grown two heads. Annie gave a little smile and the tinniest of nods before finishing her roll. She scanned the table and carefully selected a boiled egg.

"Oh Finnick, you spoil all of my fun!" Dora came to stand between him and Mags. From the sound of her voice, he could tell she was smiling brightly. "Now, I hope you two are enjoying yourselves now. I don't suppose you've ever seen most of this food before?" And she went on to describe every different piece of food on the table, like the Tributes were starving children from Twelve instead of well-fed young adults from Four. Well, Triston certainly was. It was hard to tell with Annie. Finnick was used to Career girls, who ate protein bars for breakfast and lifted weights. Her thin stature may have just been from lack of muscle – he was sure she would look healthy compared to the poorer Tributes.

No, she was certainly a middle of the road Tribute, which meant she was doomed. She would get no favoritism or sympathy gifts. And after Finnick's Games, the Careers' mentors always made sure their Tributes went after Four first if they were not allies. In a way, he had damaged her chances before she was even Reaped.

Finnick halfheartedly flipped through a few different strategies in his mind. Her best bet would be an alliance with the Careers, but he doubted she could pull that off. Allying with other Tributes wouldn't do, that would make her a bigger target for the Careers. It was too bad Triston seemed unlikely to take Annie under his wing: he could make a powerful protector. Some girls played the Games that way. They found a stronger male Tribute and flirted with him, formed an alliance with him and stuck with him until someone else killed him. Those girls usually made it pretty far in the Games, though Finnick couldn't remember the last time one of the won. The girls who won the Games were nearly always fierce, unbelievably strong competitors like Yvonne had been. Or they had a unique hidden skill that allowed them to survive in conditions others could not. Finnick looked Annie over doubtfully. Unless she had the ability to turn invisible, there was little that would save her.

"Who will be mentoring who?" Triston's voice broke Finnick's musings.

So no talk of joint Training then? Yes, Triston definitely had no plans to help Annie out. "I'll be taking Annie, you'll have Mags."

Triston's mouth dropped in outrage. "What? I thought I would be training with you?" Now he finally looked at Mags with an expression of undisguised frustration. "I'm a Career, I'm supposed to have the best Mentor, not some old lady."

It was too bad for Triston that he said this to Finnick and not Bruce as Yvonne had done. For Bruce only possessed the slightest of respect for Mags, while Finnick absolutely adored her. "Being a Career only means that you were trained for the Games up until this point, it means nothing now. You may have special treatment from sponsors, but you'll get none from us." What is it just him, or did Annie relax at those words? "That being said, Mags _is _the better mentor between the two of us. She's possibly the best out of all the Victors. You're not getting her because you're a Career; you're getting her because here in Four we try to assign mentors based on each Tribute's weaknesses. I've only just met you and my first impression of you is that you're impatient, you're foolish and you're inconsiderate. You should be glad I'm not your mentor, because I already don't like you. Mags, on the other hand, is much more forgiving."

Finally Triston was quiet. Mags gave Finnick knowing looks while he sawed away at his smoked salmon bagel. That was no way to talk to a boy who may die in a few days. He knew that, but he could feel the blackness encroaching on his soul with every passing mile. He was drowning in apprehension and gut-turning anxiety. Within the day, they would be at the Capitol and it would drag Finnick in like the Kraken of old legends. He could feel its tentacles pulling him under now. His only wish was that he would drown.

He was now sawing at the plate under his bagel. Mags was listening attentively to something Triston was saying while Dora flitted about on the other side of compartment. None of them noticed. Finnick looked up to see sea-green eyes, the same color as his, staring intently at him. He gave Annie an embarrassed smile and a wink, expecting her to color prettily and look away. Instead she frowned before turning her attention back to her own plate.

They passed through the tunnel that connected District Three to District Two. Finnick felt his head disappear beneath the water.

_Please just let me drown_.

* * *

He was whisked away as soon as he set foot on Capitol soil. There was a Capitol official in the crowd, nodding and beckoning to him subtly. Finnick turned toward the rest of the entourage. "Well, I'll see you all later. I've got some _business _to take care of." He winked at them and headed off, catching a glimpse of Annie staring at him dolefully when he glanced back. Everyone knew what business he was referring to, there was no use hiding it. His only job was to ensure they all thought it was by choice.

Finnick was hurried through the Remake Center, before any of the Tributes arrived and given directions to his first client. They didn't bother with Peacekeepers anymore. He hadn't misbehaved since that first encounter with Paprik. Just like Snow had demanded, Finnick kept his head down.

Sometimes literally.

Long gone was the shy boy who had to be told what to do. Now he knew every role by heart: submissive, dominant, lecherous, knowledgeable…he had truly become a sex god. Except there was nothing holy about the way he fucked. That was the work of a devil. Sometimes Finnick was secretly glad his mother was dead. She never had to see the disgusting person – no, creature – he'd become.

He missed the Tributes being remade and the chariots. When he arrived back at the Remake Center, he could see they had once again gone with the mermaid theme. It appeared that Mags had been allowed to have some say, because Triston had a fishnet shirt covering his upper body and Annie was wearing a crop top rather than two seashells placed strategically over her breasts.

"How'd it go?" He directed the question to both Tributes.

"Pretty good." Triston replied. "Our costumes weren't as stupid as some of the others and they cheered pretty loudly for us."

Finnick gave Annie a brief look and she nodded. "I think it went well." She paused. "Why weren't you there?"

Nobody had questioned him in years. "I told you, I had some special matters to attend to."

"He means the ladies." Triston told Annie with a smirk, waggling his brows at Finnick. "Once you're a Victor, they can't get enough of you huh?" There was something in his voice, a touch of envy.

"That's right." He replied in his patented cheerful tone as he clapped Triston on the back. "That's the life you have to look forward to if you win: money, fame and all the women you could ever dream of."

Triston laughed like he knew Finnick was mocking him in some way, but his eyes were wide with the promise of a Victor's life. It was clear then that Triston was just like Dauntless, Angelique and Gregor had been. He would make a better Victor than Finnick. If Snow gave him the same offer he'd given Finnick, Triston would have probably agreed. And while he wasn't as attractive as Finnick he would still be popular. If Triston won, it would certainly take some of the attention and pressure off of Finnick. And maybe if he was greedy enough he'd willingly take on some of the male clients too…

His stomach twisted. Fuck, what was he thinking? Hoping that a seventeen-year-old boy would win the Games so he could prostitute himself to the sick people of the Capitol? Maybe the Capitol had already swallowed him and he just didn't realize it. Now he was as sick as them.

Maybe this was why Mags gave him the Tribute they both knew couldn't win.

* * *

There was a huge party that night to kick off what was known as the 'Pre-Game-Season." Finnick's date for the night was Ivinni Portus: beautiful, young and extremely wealthy. She was a famous actress and his first introduction to her was seeing her picture in magazines Myron kept stashed under his bed. She possessed the dubious honor of being the first naked woman Finnick had ever seen.

"I'm not in that business anymore, of course." She told Finnick blithely after he made a dirty comment about the naked pictures. "Oh it was all glitz and glam at first, but I wanted to be taken seriously for my talents. Everybody only wanted me for my body, you wouldn't believe the toll it took on me." The fact that she said this with absolutely no irony made Finnick wonder if she had fewer brain cells than a starfish. "So I moved into the classier world of film-making." She tilted her head and whispered so close to his ear he could feel her lips near his jawline, "Now I save all of those old talents for the bedroom."

He flashed her his trademark grin. "That's what I was hoping for." He spied the bar from across the room and nodded at it. "Would you like me to grab you anything, honey?"

"Huh?" Ivinni cocked her head curiously. Apparently her talents did not include reading body language.

"From the bar." Finnick clarified. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Oh, you're such a gentleman!" She gushed. "I'll take a Metamorphosis Sunrise, light on the ice."

"Coming right up!" He slipped his way through the crowd and effortlessly glided to the front of the line. No one stopped him. "One Metamorphosis Sunrise, light on the ice and a double shot of vodka." He always snuck as much alcohol as he could into his patrons' drinks. The drunker they were, the drunker _he _could be. And sometimes they passed out on their own, so all that was required of him was to strip them of their clothes, take off his own, trash the room, tangle the covers and wake up naked next to them for them to believe they'd experienced a truly legendary night with Finnick Odair. Those were the mornings he left whistling.

"So the rumors are true, you _are _secretly a woman." There was a familiar voice. He turned to see Brutus, the most ferocious mentor of all, sitting at the bar.

"And a scotch on the rocks." Finnick added to the bartender, before giving Brutus his full attention. " So, excited for another year? Your Tributes look particularly vicious."

Brutus was good: he only puffed up slightly, but otherwise didn't let the ego-boost show. "District Two always brings the best Tributes. We're the best, everyone knows that."

"About time for you guys to bring another Victor." Finnick accepted his drink and Ivinni's frothy pink one from the bartender. "It's been what – four years now?"

"Better than your five."

"Ah, but we never claimed to be the best." He teased. It was always entertaining to make light of Brutus. Mostly because he had always been a dick to Finnick and one-on-one bantering was not his forte – he was much more confident when he had his Career friends to back him up. "Must have been embarrassing, losing back to back to One. And they look like they came to win again this year."

Brutus scowled. It was true; both Tributes from District One were larger than any of the others. "My Tributes are more skilled in combat and survival – and those airheads from District One are just as stupid as you." He cocked his head. "That boy of yours, he's not bad. Career?"

"Definitely." There was no point hiding it. Triston's best chance in the Arena would be if the others believed him to be a strong ally and a worthy opponent. There would definitely be no hiding out in the woods for him. "He'd probably be interested in joining the Pack. You should have your Tributes check him out."

A hand slinked around his shoulders. "Finnick, sweetie, what's taking so long?" Ivinni grabbed her drink and took an enormous gulp. "I was simply _dying _of thirst."

He doubted it. "Sorry, we just caught up talking about boring mentor things." He kissed her on the cheek. "Nothing of interest to you, my dear."

"Oh, nonsense!" Ivinni giggled. "I absolutely _love _talking about the new Tributes. All the ones from Districts One, Two and Four looked positively _stunning_." She sipped on her drink again. "Your boy looked so strong, Finnick! And your girl – she was gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as you, of course."

Finnick shrugged and grinned playfully, though an uncomfortable prickling went down his back. "Of course not, no one's as beautiful as I am."

Ivinni giggled louder and Brutus's scowl deepened. "I'm serious, she could be quite a sensation in the Capitol if she won. She has those same eyes as yours, that everyone just _adores_." She sighed dreamily. Finnick's stomach clenched. "Sea-green. So _beautiful. _Please tell me she's every bit as talented as you."

Brutus was listening to the conversation once again, now that it had turned to one of actual substance. Finnick shook his head in a dramatically sad fashion, well aware that Brutus was watching him. "She's fish food, I'm afraid." He told Ivinni, shrugging. "Not a Career, didn't volunteer. She has absolutely no training, I don't think she's ever so much as touched a weapon before. I doubt she'll make it past the Cornucopia. It's a pity, but it means I'll have more free time in the Capitol this year."

"Well, we're always glad to have you, Finnick." Ivinni told him as Brutus walked away, having gleaned the information he wanted. Finnick watched him go as Ivinni trailed kisses down his neck, knowing that he'd just sabotaged any chance Annie had of joining the Career pack.

For some reason, that thought made the sick feeling in his stomach go away.

* * *

The next morning, Finnick strolled into the Training Center at 9:45, to see Annie sitting on the couch in the living room, tapping her foot and looking nervous.

"What are you still doing here?" He questioned her, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in front of her and sitting down.

She blinked in confusion, drawing his attention to her eyes. They were rather similar to her own, though greener and larger. "I was waiting for you." She informed him. "You're my mentor, you're supposed to give me advice before training."

"Oh." Finnick racked his brains guiltily and realized he hadn't told Annie anything about what to expect from training. In fact, he hadn't much spoken to her at all. "I figured Mags would take you." He stood up with a sigh. Here he'd been hoping to catch a couple hours of rest. Well, he could spare ten minutes to walk her down. "Come on, let's go. The arrogant Tributes can pull off being late, but if you're late they'll think you spent the last five minutes throwing up."

Annie wrinkled her nose and stood up. "Not likely. I've only ever thrown up one time, when I had the flu. I have a strong stomach."

"Huh, that's interesting." Finnick remarked absently. "I guess I have a weak one then, I throw up whenever I get nervous."

She laughed unexpectedly. "Finnick Odair gets nervous?"

"Only occasionally." He winked at her. "But it's disgusting when it happens, I _wish _I had a strong stomach. That's a real virtue. Too bad it won't do you much good in the Arena."

"Maybe it will." Annie put in. There was a dangerous optimism in her voice. "You never know."

"Hmm." They fell into silence as they walked. More than anything, he wanted to take a bath and scrub the oils Ivinni had insisted upon out of his skin. And then sleep. For a year. Or at least the next few days, so that Annie could be dead and he wouldn't have to get to know her at all before that happened.

Annie was not going to make that easy for him. "So what should I do in training?" She sounded so anxious, so utterly dependent on his guidance. He wished she would just give up.

"Train." He told her and was startled that she managed to roll her eyes at him. "Okay, have you handled a weapon before?" She shook her head. "Normally I'd say don't show your weakest skill to others, but you need to get all the practice with a weapon you can get. Go with a short sword – something long enough that you can use it to hold off any other weapon, but not so long it becomes difficult to maneuver. All the survival skills in the world won't help you if you can't defend yourself." And three days of training was not going to teach Annie to hold her own against trained killers. She had to know that.

Instead of becoming defeated, though, Annie nodded fervently. "Okay, short sword. Got it." They reached the entranceway and she looked up at him again. "What about alliances?" She asked awkwardly. "District Four, we're usually in the Career pack, right?"

"Usually, but your best bet is to stay on your own. Stay away from the Careers. If they came near you in the Arena, you'd be dead." She looked at him doubtfully. "I didn't make any alliances either." He also survived off of sponsor gifts that no one else got, and had the training to defend himself.

"Okay." She still looked dubious but nodded and stepped forward. The doors slid open and Finnick caught a glimpse of the huge Career from District One slicing a dummy in half.

* * *

He was able to achieve a few hours of sleep before they summoned him again. Ivinni wanted him to accompany her to a charming afternoon tea at the Secretary of State's mansion. They screwed in the coat closet while the Secretary's daughter performed a violin solo. Then there was another party, where he was instructed to pick up a man with yellow skin. Sometimes his patrons paid him to bump into them and flirt with them as if completely on accident before going home with them. As if he would ever deliberately chase down this man with pudgy cheeks and hair so overly-greased it stuck to his head like a helmet.

It was well past midnight when he made it back. Everyone was asleep, including Mags. After his family was killed, she'd asked him why he kept doing this. He'd told her he was afraid they'd kill him if he stopped. As if he didn't want to die every day. If she ever found out it was only her life standing between him and freedom, she would kill herself. Mags was one of the few truly good things left in the world. Protecting her was worth everything, so he avoided the conversation about his true motives and above all never let her suspect that he would much rather be dead.

Shaking off these dark thoughts, he poured himself a straight glass of whiskey. Haymitch, the drunken victor from Twelve, seemed to have it right. Alcohol made everything better. He downed the drink quickly, squeezing his eyes shut to get it over with. He'd never liked the taste and the stinging sensation it made as it slide down his throat was even worse. But unless he gave in to Morphling like those sad addicts from Six, this was the only medication he would have.

"Doesn't look like you're enjoying that." Annie's voice echoed his thoughts as she crept out from behind the doorway.

He raised his eyebrows at her, internally groaning. _Just go away, I don't want to see you right now. _"How long have you been there?"

She walked across the room hesitantly. "Since I heard you come in." She stopped in front of him and tilted her head. "Why do drink if you don't like it?"

"It's the only booze readily available." Finnick answered honestly. He was too tired to make up elaborate lies. "Except for those weird concoctions these Capitol people like." He'd learned long ago not to trust those. He liked their sweetness, but most certainly did not like the strange chemicals they mixed in. Particularly paralysis drugs.

"I don't really like alcohol at all." _Stop telling me things; I don't want to know you_. Annie stepped closer, wrinkling her nose. "I don't like the taste, I don't like how stupid it makes people and I don't like not feeling in control."

Finnick was never in control. The alcohol just helped him forget that. "I like beer. Beer tastes good." _You should try it sometime_ almost slips off his lips before he remembers. He looked down into his glass with a frown. "This stuff is too strong though. It tastes like shit."

"So why drink it then?" She pressed, ignoring his attempts to redirect the conversation.

He shrugged. "Because it feels good."

There was that doubtful look. "Does it?"

Numb felt good compared to agony. "Sure." He grabbed the bottle to pour himself more. "You should sleep."

Something other than doubt was in her eyes. Almost like worry? Finnick nearly laughed at the thought. This girl was going to be dead in a few days. She definitely wasn't worried about his drinking habits. "Okay," She told him, walking back to her room. Hesitantly, she turned back. "You should sleep too."

He nearly dropped the glass. She _was _worried about him. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone so selfless. Shit, she was going to be slaughtered in the Arena. And worst of all, now he was going to probably care.

* * *

Finnick was glad he was busy for the next two days. He joined Mags, Triston, Dora and Annie for a few meals and discussed alliance strategies with Triston, but that was the extent of their interaction. Some of his appointments had to do with PR for Snow, attending events to show his approval and draw crowds.

Most of them were just fucking, though.

One of them was Scarlett Fiestman, an old woman who was so obviously surgically enhanced to appear young again it was disgusting. Afterward she looked around in her purse, searching for some sort of token she'd meant to give him.

"Oh no, I must have left it at home!" She fell back against the bed, looking absolutely distraught. "I can't believe it, how absolutely inconsiderate of me!"

Sometimes Finnick wanted to laugh at the absurdities of Capitol etiquette. Buying a blackmailed prostitute? No problem. But forgetting to tip him or give an extravagant gift afterward? _Catastrophe_. "It's okay Scarlett," His lips ghosted over her navel. "I don't need anything." And really, his acceptance of gifts was a courtesy to them. He had more money than he ever needed. Their money and gifts had never stopped feeling dirty to him. He preferred it when they didn't bother.

"But you don't even get paid." He could almost hear the tinniest hint of guilt in her voice. "And you've given me such a _wonderful _gift." Her hands fisted in his hair. "I feel like I must return the favor." She let out a little gasp. "Oh, I know. I can share a secret with you."

Finnick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't give a damn about Capitol gossip; most of it was worthless to him. "Do tell."

"I don't know if you know this, but I was the Head Gamemaker once." Finnick did _not _know this and he felt infinitely worse about touching her now. Gamemakers were sick, despicable excuses for human beings. If this was her secret, he wished she'd kept it to herself. "I stepped down ten years ago – the only Gamemaker in history to willingly do so – because I was afraid there would be investigations into my Game decisions and I would be killed."

This was a little more interesting. "Killed?" He echoed, cocking his head like a confused little District boy.

She stroked his hair softly. It occurred to Finnick that if she had made her way to the Head Gamemaker position and stepped down ten years ago, she was old enough to be his mother, if not his grandmother. "Oh yes, the Head Gamemaker is a very dangerous job, very dangerous indeed. And I had good reason to fear, because I allowed myself to be bribed and rigged the Arena so that a certain Tribute would win."

"How so?" He questioned, heart beating faster at this information. He hadn't known such a thing was possible.

Scarlett laughed. "I had reason to favor the girl from Eight – the mayor offered me a bribe. So the finale was a pack of mutts that were genetically programmed to go for the largest Tributes first. She was the smallest, so she survived." Scarlett shook her head, smiling with relief. "It feels so good to get that off my chest, you have no idea how long I carried that around."

Finnick remembered those Games, and remembered Myron grumbling about the unfairness of it all – that was before Myron's last Reaping. At the time he hadn't even suspected it could have been rigged. The Hunger Games were a reminder that the Capitol was in control. They were untouchable, inflexible. But all the mayor of Eight had to do was make a _bribe_…

This sort of knowledge was rare and precious. It was _power_. Control.

"So did you like my gift?" Scarlett demanded breathlessly, leaning up with her lips puckered.

His only response was to passionately catch them.

* * *

He wasn't able to advise Annie before her private training with the Gamemakers. So he was a little curious what she'd done to pull off a six.

"I went through every injury I could think of and told them how I would treat it using the supplies in the Training room." She told him as they sat alone in her bedroom on the last day before the Games. Mags was advising Triston separately. "I demonstrated my stitching abilities, made a splint with tree-bark and twigs, and showed them how to sanitize everything with a fire. I didn't think they were very impressed."

"Still, a six that's…" _better than I would have thought. _

"Triston got a ten."

_Triston has a real chance of winning_. "They always give more points to the Tributes who demonstrate combat skills. A six is really high for not even touching a weapon."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "High enough for the Careers to want me in their pack?"

Finnick frowned. "I thought I told you not to join their pack?"

"I know, but I–" Annie bit her lip, looking incredibly frustrated. "Do you not want me to win?"

Her sudden intensity shocked him. Finnick actually did a double take. "What? I'm your mentor; of course I want you to win." But she was looking at him with a fierceness he had not known her to possess. "Christ, I know I haven't been here much and I know you don't think very highly of me, but I can assure you that I'm doing everything I can do get you out of there alive."

"No you aren't." Annie cut through his bullshit without a second thought. "You never asked me about my skills, what I was actually good at. You just saw I wasn't a Career and gave up on me. You never _bothered _to find out that I've been apprenticing with my Aunt as a nurse for nearly seven years. You haven't given me advice for getting sponsors, or making allies or impressing the Gamemakers. You're never here if I have a question." Her words were like vicious waves of truth crashing against him. He was a shitty mentor. He'd written her off to die. Annie shook her head at him. "You know, Triston was completely wrong about him getting the raw end of the deal. At least Mags _tries_. At least she's _here_."

It was completely and utterly unfair, but Finnick found himself getting angry with this girl who was going to die. "I'm trying my best." He snapped at her. "But being a Victor is not as easy as it looks. I have obligations, things beside you that I have to take care of."

"I could die tomorrow!" Annie cried, showing true fear for the first time since her Reaping. "Your most important obligation should be making sure that doesn't happen!"

"Well, it's not!"

"What could possibly be more important than saving someone's life?"

Finnick laughed. It was not his Capitol chuckle, not his sheepish, or hearty laugh. It was cold, wild and out of control. "You think if I made you a Victor I'd be _saving your life_? You really think you'd have a life worth saving at that point? If you became a Victor, your life wouldn't be worth _shit_. You'd spend every single day wishing you had died in that Arena because death, God, _anything_, has to be better than living in this motherfucking world!"

Silence. Finnick's words echoed off the walls and his face turned white, knowing without a doubt that the room was bugged. Surely they wouldn't punish Mags for his lapse, for breaking down in front of a damned girl? If they did bring forth some sort of retribution, Finnick only prayed it would be to bring him the death he'd practically begged for.

"This is what I was afraid of." Annie whispered, drawing Finnick's attention. "I've been watching you when you're here. You smile and laugh but when you think no one's looking you start to break around the edges. The Games damaged you and caused you to forget what's so wonderful about living. And it terrifies me, because the one person who's supposed to be responsible for my safety doesn't recognize the value of life."

"Annie," Finnick whispered urgently, keeping his voice low even though he knew there was no sound too quiet for bugs to pick up. "It's not just the Games, you have to understand that. If you won, they would take _everything _from you." He paused, trying to find a way to explain to this determined yet innocent girl without completely destroying her. "Imagine that you're a knot. The Games take that knot and unravel it. And every time you try to put yourself back together, every time you think you're almost whole again, the Capitol comes along and gives you a tug, and you're unraveled again. And eventually you just _stop _trying to fix it because you know it's useless. That's what being a Victor is. This isn't me just saying that being a Victor is not as great as it looks, or that your life won't be as good as it was before. I'm saying that it's not worth _anything_." He ran his hands through his hair, well aware that he was destroying hours of Ravari's work. "For you to win…you'd have to push yourself to the absolute breaking point. You'd go through hell. And ninety-eight percent of it would have to be sheer luck while the remaining two percent would be me spending every waking moment getting sponsor gifts for you and monitoring you – _which I can't do_." He looked up at her, shaking his head. "And all that, for a life that's not worth living? That would be the cruelest thing I could do to you."

Annie took one of his hands from his hair and pulled it away gently, not forcefully. "Thank you." She told him, clasping his hand between her own.

"For what?" He couldn't help staring down at their entwined hands.

"For helping me prepare for my interview."

* * *

The lights of the stage were resplendent as always. Caesar's hair was purple this time, and his suit matched. The crowd was cheering politely for District Three's male Tribute as he left the stage, though they were much quieter than they were for One and Two.

"She's next." Mags whispered to him. "What angle is she going to play?"

"You'll see." Finnick shot her a mysterious grin, hiding his terror. He had no idea what Annie was going to do. She'd shut out all his attempts to extract her plan and his ideas for what she _should _do. He'd hissed at her that public denouncement of the Games was a stupid, dangerous idea, and she'd better not repeat anything he'd said about a Victor's life being shitty.

Forget worrying about the room being bugged. Finnick was now concerned Annie would share his treasonous views with the entire country.

She walked onto the stage, lovely in her sea-green dress. When she first walked backstage with it on, Finnick had squirmed when he realized it matched her eyes, those District Four eyes the Capitol was so taken with. Thankfully it was much classier than the girl from District Two's dress, which had a neckline down to her navel. Annie's stylist was far more sensible than Ravari.

But he wasn't concerned with how she appeared. He was concerned with what she'd _say_. His eyes stayed trained to the screen backstage as Caesar gallantly gestured for Annie to take a seat.

"Annie Cresta, I must say you look beautiful, like a goddess of the sea." He gushed. "Now, District Four is a wealthy District so do you get the chance to dress up like this for parties back home?"

Of course not. No one outside of the Capitol wore finery like that, not even in District One.

"I'm afraid not." Annie looked down at the dress. "But, you know I'm actually a rather simple girl. I'm much more comfortable in simple clothing. And these heels–" She stretched out her foot in dismay. "My stylist had to teach me how to walk in them. I've never worn any before!" That earned a laugh from the audience and she laughed gently with them. There were no cheers or screams. Her presence seemed to calm the crowd.

"Well, you look fabulous in them. You should wear them more often!" Caesar grinned at her. "Maybe you will, if you become the Victor?"

Finnick sucked in a deep breath. God damnit. Here it came.

Annie tilted her head to the side. "I hope so." She told him. "Because I'd like to learn to walk properly in them. You know what else I'd like to learn?" She asked Caesar.

"What else?" He prompted, humoring her.

"My mother's shrimp and grits recipe. The secret behind my neighbor's beautiful garden – ours always gets so tangled with weeds and hers stays perfect. The name of every star. How to weave a fishing net without any tangles. What my brother got on his history test. The ending to the book I was reading the night before my Reaping. What it feels like to wake up next to the same person every morning, watch his eyelashes flutter open and just say, 'Hi.'"

The crowd was silent save for a few murmurs, seeming to unconsciously recognize they'd heard something incredibly beautiful and profound, but not knowing how to respond to that. Caesar himself was subdued and thoughtful with his next question. "Why those things specifically?"

Annie looked directly at the camera. Finnick couldn't look away. "Because those are the small things, the tiny moments and pleasures that make life worth living. Those are the things that – even when we are broken and feel completely lost – tie us to reality and keep us moving forward. Those are the things I will be holding on to during the Games, and for every single moment afterward."

"So you're saying you plan to win?" Caesar asked her, trying to steer the interview back to the more traditional route.

She nodded. "I plan to survive. I will always survive because I know there is always something worth fighting for. Even when I think I'm trying as hard as I can, I will push myself harder. Because there's _always _something more you can do."

There was no doubt about it. She was speaking to Finnick. She was begging him – no _ordering him_ – to put his life back together so he could save hers.

"_And ninety-eight percent of it would have to be sheer luck while the remaining two percent would be me spending every waking moment getting sponsor gifts for you and monitoring you – which I can't do."_

Yes he could.

* * *

A/N: Yay, Finnick is coming back to life!

This is not going to be a long, every-single-moment-told-in-excruciating-detail kind of fic (I love those, but I don't have the time to dedicate toward an Odesta fic like that at the moment - Pawn is still my baby). This section is just more detailed because it's extremely important in Finnick's life.

Thank you for all of your favs, follows and reviews! I appreciate any kind of feedback!


	3. Part Three

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, disturbing material and minor character death

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns it all. Including Lyme, actually (she was a minor character in Mockingjay).

* * *

Part Three

* * *

"I've got a new plan." Finnick grabbed Annie's arm and dragged her around the corner. She looked at him with what could only be described as pure hope and he felt a pang of guilt. That was the first time he'd seen that expression on her face. "Okay, I've a _plan_." He confessed, admitting that he'd never really given her a plan in the first place.

"What is it?"

"You're going to ally with the Career pack."

* * *

"Brutus!" He spied the bald head that towered over ever one else's turn. Finnick skidded to a halt, trying not to look like he'd just desperately chased him down, even though he absolutely had. Brutus was accompanied by Sasha and Luster, the mentors from One, and Lyme, his fellow Two mentor.

"Odair." Brutus looked irritated that he'd interrupted their conversation.

"I need to talk to you about the pack."

"Your boy looked good up there," Lyme told him. She was hard and disciplined, meaning she generally didn't have time for Finnick's shenanigans, but she was far more down-to-earth than most Careers so he liked her regardless of her disdain for him. "No need to worry. The alliance is secure."

"I'm not talking about Triston." Triston, with his score of ten, lifetime of training, spectacular interview and, let's face it, _Mags_, did not need any extra help. "I'm talking about Annie."

Sasha actually laughed. "That pathetic thing?" She cooed. "You'll be lucky if she makes it past the Bloodbath this year. Though, if you're smart, you'll tell her not to go near the Cornucopia."

_Thank you for that sage wisdom. _"She's not much of a fighter, that's obvious." He said instead. "But guess what skill she used for her private session with the Gamemakers?"

"What?" Brutus took the bait, looking bored.

"Healing." Finally he seemed to have a little of their attention. "She apprenticed under a nurse for almost half her life. She's exactly the sort of ally you want in your pack – useful, but not a threat."

"She only got a six." Luster said doubtfully. "She can't be that good."

He turned to Luster with mock sympathy on his face, knowing there had to be at least some jesting involved or they would be suspicious of his earnestness. "Well Luster, you're new to this so I'll explain how it works." Luster was a decade older than Finnick and won his games before him. But this was his first time mentoring so he was technically the newbie of the bunch. "The Gamemakers are biased toward weaponry skills and feats of strength, particularly when judging Districts One, Two and Four. For demonstrating a skill that didn't have anything to do with combat, a six is pretty damn high."

Lyme folded her arms. "A six for healing is good, there's no doubt about that. But our Tributes are strong this year. They don't need a weak link dragging them down."

"Your Tributes were strong last year too." Finnick pointed out. "But what did your girl die from? Oh yeah: _infection_. If there'd been a healer in your pack – or anyone with half a brain, really – that would have never happened."

"I'm for it." Brutus put in first, surprising all of them. "She's not a threat, she'll never win. If she wants to play nurse with the big boys, let her."

Sasha and Luster nodded their assent. Only Lyme looked suspicious. "You have to know she can't win." She told Finnick. "She'll die once the pack turns on each other, probably even before. And you were against her joining the pack at the beginning. What do you have to gain now?"

_Hope_. "I have a large bet on her surviving until the final ten." He said instead, winking at them. "If I win, the company of the most beautiful woman in Panem will be mine."

"I thought _you _were the most beautiful woman in Panem." Luster looked to approval from Brutus, who conceded a small smile. Ah. That was their private little joke, was it?

Finnick rose above and focused on Lyme. "What do you say?" She was the senior Career here. Her consent was the one he really needed.

She nodded. "Got it. Just don't pull any funny business, Odair."

He fixed a confused expression on his face. "What could I possibly do? I would have to go into the Arena myself and defend her to make sure she got out alive."

* * *

"But how can I be sure the Careers won't kill me once my back is turned?" Now Annie sounded nervous. "You were right, I'm completely defenseless."

"Triston isn't."

* * *

Triston stared at him and furrowed his eyebrows. "Is this a joke?"

"Would I ever joke about something this serious?" Finnick demanded. "Don't answer that. No, this isn't a joke. I want you to join up with Annie."

The shorter male shook his head, as if he were trying to get water out of his ears. "I'm already allied with the Career pack. That's the plan Mags and I made from the beginning." There was respect in his voice when he talked about Mags now. Finnick decided that in spite of his initial judgment on the boy, he was a reasonable human being. That would make his job easier.

"Annie is too." He informed Triston. "They're taking her in for her healing skills. But she'll be defenseless in there. She needs somebody to watch her back. That'll be your job."

"Okay, I get what she gets out of this." Triston met Finnick's eyes squarely. "And if we're both in the Career pack she'll be expected to heal me too. So what do _I _get?"

"Someone to watch _your _back." Finnick replied. "She may not be much of a fighter, but she can at least warn you about an attack. Trust me, you don't want to go into the pack with nobody having any semblance of loyalty to you. You'll be the first to go. The Career pack is always made up of teams and the strays they take in. The strays almost never win. You need to be in a team. And as their healer, Annie will have value to them."

Triston shifted uncomfortably. "Ok, I get what you're saying, it makes some sense. And I sort of know why you're pushing for this now, I mean that speech…" He seemed to struggle with himself. "She's a good person, isn't she?" He sounded rather upset at the knowledge. Finnick suddenly realized he hadn't been the only person avoiding Annie these last few days.

"She is, and that's why you need her." Finnick had almost gotten through to him, he could feel it. "As a good person and someone from your home District, she'll help keep you sane. She'll be somebody you can talk to."

"Like a friend?" Triston spoke the word like it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard. "What if I have to kill her?"

"You won't." Finnick promised him falsely. For all he knew, it could come down to the two of them. "You know as well as I do she can't survive on her own. Once the pack breaks up, you two split off from the rest. And then you split off from each other."

"So if you think she's going to die anyway, what's the point?"

"My job as a mentor is to make sure she has the best chance of survival. And it just so happens that her best chance is your best chance."

* * *

"But once Triston abandons me, what do I do?"

"You run. You hide. You stay away from the other Tributes. Don't go after supplies at the Feast, don't try to steal them from anyone else. I'll send you everything you need."

"I thought you said you wouldn't be able to do that?"

"I figured out a way."

* * *

"Mr. Odair." For once, Snow did not sound like he was expecting him. "What a pleasant surprise."

_I'm so sure. _"President Snow." Finnick sat down on the armchair across the coffee table from Snow. It was nearly midnight so when he'd arrived at the President's mansion and asked to see him, they'd escorted him to a living room where Snow was sipping tea, rather than his office. "Could we possibly skip the niceties and go straight to business?"

"Certainly. I'd like to keep this short. What possessed you to barge into my home and demand to see me so late in the evening?"

Finnick would hardly call convincing the guards to let him speak to Snow 'barging in.' Still, he could see that Snow was irritated. He had to tread carefully. "I'm sorry, but if I waited until tomorrow the Games would have started. Then it would have been too late."

"Too late for what?"

"For me to request the Games off."

Silence. Finnick was aware of how ridiculous his words sounded as they bounced around the room. God, he hoped this would work. Finally, Snow spoke. "I assume you are not speaking of your mentoring duties?"

"Yes." Snow, as always, was on track with the conversation. "I need to focus more on mentoring. Half my Tributes have gotten killed while I've been away on other business. It's bad for District Four's image and therefore bad for mine." _Which makes me less valuable_, was the unspoken understanding between them. That was what Finnick was banking on Snow actually caring about.

"So you want me to cancel all your prepaid appointments?" Snow's voice was disapproving and doubtful. Somehow Finnick knew he was actually considering it.

"If at all possible." Finnick looked down. He was submissive, asking a favor from Snow, not manipulating him. There was no manipulating the Devil. "I would be in your debt." Which was the position Finnick least wanted to be in and Snow most wanted him in.

"Why are you coming to me with this?" Snow questioned. "Your handlers are the ones who deal with your day to day activities."

"I knew they didn't have the power to give me the entire Games off. Only you do." Snow was in control. He was always in control.

Snow regarded him. He shook his head and Finnick's heart dropped. "I'm afraid it's not possible. It's too last minute. Maybe next year." He waved Finnick away.

_There's always something you can do. _"The other mentors are starting to notice," He blurted out. "Pretty soon they'll realize I'm not doing it by choice. And the one's who don't know better yet will talk and then everyone will know. If Mags finds out why I'm doing this, she'll kill herself." It was strange to speak these truths to the person he trusted least in the world. "And if she goes, I'm done. No more money to fill your coiffeurs with. I'll kill myself too."

Snow laughed. "You think we can't prevent that?"

"Not if you want me to keep fucking, no." Finnick told him bluntly. "The only way to stop me from killing myself would be to institutionalize me. And there's nothing sexy about a mental patient." He drew in a deep breath and stuck out his hand. "No patrons during the Games. Do we have a deal?"

That was it: that was everything he had. Snow looked amused more than anything else and Finnick wondered if he'd been tricked into revealing something. "We do." Snow told him without shaking his hand. "Now get out of my house."

* * *

"What about the finale?"

Finnick was quiet. That was the one thing he hadn't quite figured out. "I don't know yet." He admitted. "The only advice on that I can give you is that when you're running form anything, watch where you're running to. If the Tributes aren't fighting each other at the end, most times they'll try to force you together. Avoid this for as long as you can. If you can't, just rely on your instincts when you fight." She looked terrified. "I know that sounds stupid, but most of fighting is instinct. Especially when it's the end and everyone is exhausted and weak. In the end the most important thing is who is the healthiest. So stay healthy, stay safe and I'll try to save as much money from sponsors as I can to help you in the finale." He shrugged. "That's all I can do."

Annie reached forward and hugged him. "That's everything."

* * *

The mentors gathered in the Watching Room, their eyes peeled on the screens. This was the first time in two years Finnick had sat with the other mentors at the start, rather than entertaining a Capitol patron at the Hunger Games Launch Party. Wiress, the mentor from District Three, cast him a nervous and surprised eye. He guessed she'd become used to having an empty seat beside her and only hoped she wouldn't draw attention to it.

The arena was a canyon. The Tributes probably couldn't see from their vantage point, but it was a giant bowl wrinkled with ridges and cliffs, surrounded by a reservoir of water held back by a circular dam that looked too high to climb. Finnick assumed this was to make sure the Tributes couldn't reach the force field, because so many people complained about all the Tributes who died hitting the force field. The water didn't look very accessible and he wondered how they would get to it.

"Dry arena." He commented to Mags, who nodded.

"Unless they can get to that water, it's going to be all about the sponsors."

"That would be too boring, there's got to be a trick to it." He squinted, trying to get a closer look but it was impossible to tell. They'd have to wait until the Tributes reached the dam.

The Cornucopia was on a raised plateau, higher than the Tributes surrounding it. Any Tribute not in the Career pack had better have the good sense to duck behind a rock formation. Even if they managed to escape the Cornucopia unscathed, the Careers would have the high ground and would kill them as they ran away.

On that point, one of the Careers would need to get to the Cornucopia first to ensure it was their territory. If even one other Tribute managed to get there before them, they could do some heavy damage to the pack.

The camera zoomed in on the male Tribute from District Two: Tiberius. He was the favorite, with good reason. He may not have been as big as Flux from District One, but Brutus was right about Flux being an airhead. His interview had been one of the least inspiring Finnick had ever seen from District One – and that was _saying something_. Tiberius was average height and toned, with the sneakiness of a snake. There was spark behind his life, an active brain. One that was programmed to kill.

Finnick hoped Tiberius wasn't the first one to the Cornucopia. He wouldn't put it past him to kill Annie on her way there despite his mentor's advice.

The other District Two Tribute, Theta, was more likely to stick to the alliance. She was shorter than Annie but obviously stronger. Word was she was a skilled swordsman, which was unusual for a girl from Two. Usually they went for knives: they were quicker and they could maintain their distance if they wanted. She radiated lethalness during her interview and Finnick wouldn't have doubted if she was the most intelligent Tribute of the lot. She would recognize Annie's value.

The camera switched to Annie and Claudius Templesmith said something about the touching girl who moved the audience to tears last night. Her teeth were gritted tightly and she was focused on the Cornucopia. Finnick curled his hands into a fist. She was going for it. She was sticking to the plan.

Everyone drew in a collective breath as the countdown hit ten seconds. No matter how much they joked and tried to distance themselves, they couldn't escape the tension of this moment. Even Haymitch sat up straighter and set his glass down.

Five. Four. Three. Two. Two.

"Let the Seventieth Hunger Games begin!"

At least half the Tributes sprinted toward the Cornucopia. Tiberius, Triston, Flux, Theta and the boy from District Ten were in the lead. Some of the Tributes who realized they weren't going to beat the Careers stopped in their tracks and fled the other way. Now there were only nine. Annie was toward the rear but not as slow as the boy from Twelve.

Triston reached the Cornucopia first and Finnick resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air. He grabbed a bow and quiver, pulling an arrow taught against the string before aiming it toward Annie.

"Jesus Mags, your Tribute's turning on his District early, isn't he?" Blight from District Seven asked.

_He'd better not be. _Finnick tensed as Triston's sure-aimed arrow whizzed past Annie and hit the girl from District Nine in the leg. The girl staggered and limped as quickly away as she could. Rather than finish her off, Triston ran around the Cornucopia to help Flux up onto the Plateau. He seemed determined to prove his worth to the alliance.

The boy from District Ten had made it to the Cornucopia right after Triston on the other side. He was currently engaged in a vicious battle with Theta, who was clawing her way up even as he held her off with a knife. While the boy was engaged with Theta, Tiberius pulled himself up and grabbed an axe from the pile. Before the District Ten boy knew Tiberius was there, the axe was buried into his back and the cannon boomed while Tiberius pulled his District partner up.

Triston left Flux to help Velvet, the District One girl, and came back around. "Grab my hand." He told Annie, helping her up onto the plateau.

The District Twelve boy was the last to arrive. He stopped at the edge of the plateau and froze as all six faces of the Career pack looked down on him.

"Who wants it?" Tiberius asked casually.

Triston shot the boy in the throat before it could become a discussion.

"Look at you, Four." Crooned Velvet. "Or should I say 'Triston.' You've got that killer instinct after all. Seriously, who invited your girlfriend though?"

All five heads turned toward Annie. Finnick cursed inwardly when she instinctively jerked back. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"She's my friend." Triston interrupted coolly. "And I was under the impression you'd already accepted her into the alliance?"

"Our mentors did." Tiberius answered, taking a challenging step toward Triston. "But they never saw how pathetic she was in Training. I'm shocked she even managed to scrape by with a six. I was expecting about a two. She's probably the worst Tribute I've seen from Four in a long time, and that's saying something."

He moved closer, his axe glistening with blood. To his credit, Triston didn't back down. "She can treat wounds, I'm sure your mentor told you that." He nodded towards Theta's bloodied leg. "And it looks like she's already going to come in handy."

Theta scoffed, upset that he'd pointed out her weakness so early. "This is nothing. It's just superficial." The amount of blood pooling on the floor and her inability to stand on it contradicted her statement.

"Wouldn't you like it to stay that way? Or would you like it to become infected?" Triston addressed Tiberius again: "And wouldn't it suck to have your District partner out of the game so quickly?"

"I'll have to kill her eventually anyway." Tiberius said callously, but Finnick could see his mind working. Just as he'd told Triston earlier, no one wanted to be in the Career pack by themselves. He'd be the odd man out and the first one they turned on when it split up. He eyed Triston and Annie. "This whole thing is pretty suspicious to me. She's pathetic all through Training, there's no talk from anyone about joining with her and suddenly at the last minute her mentor comes along talking about this magical healing ability? And now you're in on it too? And now _my _District partner happen to be injured?"

"Okay, that's probably a little too paranoid." Flux tried to step in on this power struggle. He should have known he was too thick to compete.

Tiberius laughed. "There's no such thing as too paranoid. This is the Hunger Games and I'm going to be the Victor. Everyone's out to get me." Well that was one way to play it: announce yourself the Victor from the beginning. Some sponsors loved it. But others would surely turn their noses up at that display of arrogance. This was good, Finnick could use this to Annie's advantage.

If she survived the next five minutes…

"Just let her look at Theta's leg." Triston reasoned. "If she can treat it, you'll know she's worth keeping around. If not, then just kill her and have done with it." He turned to Annie. "You _can _do it right?"

Annie swallowed nervously. "Yes. Theta could you lie down against the Cornucopia please? I'll go look for supplies."

"Tiberius, watch her." Theta instructed as she struggled to the ground.

"And I'll watch you." Triston told her as he discarded his arrow and bow to pull out his preferred weapon of choice – a spear – from the pile of weapons surrounding the Cornucopia. He pointed it at Theta and looked at Tiberius challengingly. "Go on, Annie."

Finnick held his breath the whole time Annie searched around the Cornucopia, digging through backpacks and containers. He didn't trust Tiberius for a second.

Fortunately Annie was able to impress them when she cleaned the wound with alcohol, created a small fire to sanitize the needle and thread she found, and unflinchingly sewed Theta's leg wound back together even as the tough Tribute from District Two screamed words that had to cause mothers all over Panem to cover their children's ears. She whispered soothing words to Theta as she wrapped a bandage around the injury, and then placed a cool pack on the bandage before wrapping that as well. "It should go pretty numb in a few minutes." She told Theta apologetically, who was hissing between her teeth.

"Not bad." Tiberius admitted, folding his arms. "All right, Theta and I will stay behind to guard the Cornucopia. The rest of you should go hunt."

"And let us kill off all your competition?" Questioned Flux. "That doesn't seem fair."

"That's because it's not." Replied Triston, frowning at Tiberius. "And once we kill all of them and come back for supplies, he'll have the high-ground to hold us back from the Cornucopia."

Well there was just not a lot of trust going around the Career pack was there?

"I'll stay with Theta." Velvet offered, grabbing the bow and arrow Triston had tossed aside. "It's way too early for us to be turning on each other. And I'm the best shot among us." Ah, District One, the voice of reason. Not a phrase often uttered.

The boys sized her up. Finnick had to give her credit for throwing herself into what had up until that point been an all-male power struggle.

"Okay." Tiberius allowed. "But we're leaving the District Four girl with you too, what's her name–"

"Annie." Annie told him patiently.

He scowled. "Annie, you're staying here so that all of us are split up. Besides, you'd be useless on the hunt and Theta might need you to check up on her leg."

"God damnit Tiberius, stop making me sound pathetic!" Theta growled at him. "I don't need a babysitter, I could hold off every other Tribute by myself."

Flux shook his head. "It's too much of a risk. Having those supplies it what separates 'us' and 'them.' We lose that advantage, we could lose the Games."

No one pointed out that five of them were going to lose anyway.

* * *

Finnick watched Annie talking gently to Theta, whose dressing she was changing. The wound around the stitches had turned a healthy looking pink rather than garish purple, so he assumed Annie had treated it correctly. Velvet was stationed on top of the Cornucopia, constantly turning so she could see everything. The sun was setting over the arena.

"I hope the boys found water." Velvet announced. Three more cannons had gone off. The mentors and audience knew it was the girl from Nine, the boy from Seven and the girl from Twelve – Haymitch had thrown his flask at the screen at that point. For all the girls waiting at the Cornucopia knew, they could be all that was left of the Career pack.

Annie nodded, looking up from Theta's wound. "Me too." She glanced worriedly at Theta's drooping eyelids. "She lost so much blood, she might fall unconscious without any water."

"Why are you being kind to her?" Demanded Velvet. "If she's not tough enough to get through this on her own, she's not worth having as an ally."

"Just because we're in the Arena doesn't mean we have to give up human compassion completely." Annie pointed out. "It's natural to provide someone with comfort when they're suffering."

A pang hit Finnick's heart. She was so unquestionably _good_. She possessed the sort of purity that Myron claimed Finnick had. If he'd ever had it, then he'd definitely lost it by now. But Finnick didn't think he'd ever had it as strongly as Annie did. He had kept his tucked away in secret, like a weakness he was afraid to reveal. Annie radiated it.

Even someone like Velvet, who was raised as something other than human, sensed that goodness. "They stamp that out of us in Career training. If someone's suffering then you step over them to the finish line."

"How lonely for you." Annie remarked.

They said nothing else until the boys got back from hunting.

There was still no water.

* * *

It was the second day and everyone was starting to get dehydrated. Finnick and the other Career mentors sent down a joint sponsor gift of six water bottles – no one wanted the pack to break up on the second day over water – and though the Tributes tried to ration it, they soon found themselves on their last drops.

"That boy from Seven, he had water." Triston told them. "We searched all around the middle of the Arena. I think the water's somewhere at the perimeter."

_Good boy, gold star for you_. Unfortunately the other Careers were not so impressed. It took all the influence Triston had to convince them to make the trek. Flux stayed behind.

At this point, Finnick and the other mentors knew what they needed to do to get at the water. There were a few hidden ladders that went up the side. The other Tributes who ran to the edge of the Arena had discovered them first and were currently guarding them. This was an advantage distinctly meant for them.

The boy and girl from Eleven were guarding one such ladder when they heard the Careers trooping forth. They gave each other one look and bolted.

"What's this?" Velvet ran her hands over the rungs in confusion. They'd decided that the wall – they couldn't see that it was really a dam – was meant to keep them away from the force field. "An exit?"

Theta snorted despite her white face. "Of course not, you idiot. The Gamemakers don't make exits. Then everyone would just escape."

Tiberius pointed his axe at Annie. "Climb it, Four."

"I think you mean 'Annie.'" Triston told him tightly. "And would you stop treating her like she's a hostage? She's in the alliance, she's proved her worth."

Triston was doing much better at this protector thing than Finnick had ever dreamed. If he made it out instead of Annie, he may just get a clap on the back instead of a punch in the face.

"I know that," Tiberius smiled. "But she's also the worst with weapons and less likely to turn on us from the high ground." Still, he kept a tight grip on his axe as Annie climbed the ladder.

She laughed once she reached the top, her voice ringing with relief. "It's water." She told them. "A reservoir."

"Is it any good?" Velvet called back up.

Annie tentatively touched her fingers to the water and examined them. Then she scooped a bit up and tasted it. "It's fresh!" She cried out. "Hand me some canteens, I'll fill them."

They passed every canteen and possible container for water they could find. When she handed them back down, Triston took them from her, his hand steadying her back. Finally when she was finished she took once look at the water and dove.

It must have been such a relief from the overwhelming heat. She resurfaced, smiling widely and looking like a true girl from District Four.

"What are you doing?" Demanded Velvet fearfully.

"Taking a bath." Annie called back. "It feels so great, you should come on in."

Triston climbed the ladder as well, keeping a careful eye on Tiberius and Velvet who hung back. "Is the water deep enough to stand in?" Tiberius asked.

"No." Annie replied, paddling about. "Why, can't you swim?" Tiberius didn't say anything as Triston jumped in from the edge of the dam, forming a cannonball that splashed all over Annie. Some of it made its way to Velvet, Theta and Tiberius, who flinched. "You could hang on over the side." Annie suggested, but the others were wise not to go anywhere near the happily splashing District Four Tributes.

Back at the Cornucopia, the pair from District Eleven had made their way to the center. After a brief scuffle that killed both the girl and Flux, the boy claimed ownership over the Cornucopia.

* * *

Theta died on the seventh day. Her wound was healing along nicely but she was still slower than the others and when they were attacked by a tidal wave of some sort of scorpion mutts, she fell behind and the rest of the group heard her screams for about a minute before they stopped and the cannon boomed. Tiberius never looked back.

He did, however, look suspiciously at Triston and Annie, the only pair left in their group.

* * *

On the eleventh day of the Games, Triston and Annie sat up and whispered alone in their corner of the cave well after the other Careers fell asleep.

"What do you miss most about home?" She asked him as she squirmed uncomfortably on the cold floor. Finnick, who was half-asleep himself on one of the gilded cots set up in the Watching Room, absently flicked through the gift catalogue and checked the price for a jacket. Christ. He'd have to do some serious networking for that. And he would have to wait until she was on her own, otherwise Tiberius would try to take it from her and finally ignite the fight that had been brewing in the pack since the beginning. He turned to Mags who was asleep in the cot next to his. Their hands were entwined, dangling between their cots.

Triston was crouching against a pillar, not even bothering to even try sleeping. This was the point when they most had to worry about someone slitting their throats in the night. Triston and Annie had agreed to part ways separately from the pack when it was down to the final eight. There had been no deaths for three days: everyone was getting restless. Velvet refused to let any of them out of her sight, for fear they would sneak up behind her and stab her in the back. Tiberius kept sharpening his axe, glaring at the rest of the alliance as if daring them to attack him. Even Triston had been showing signs of anxiety. But as he sat talking to Annie about District Four, there were none. "I think people expect me to say the ocean." He told her comfortably. "But the thing is, I never really went to the ocean much. I spent most of my time in Training. When I hung out with my friends and my girl, we never went to the docks or the beach like the normal kids. We ran off into the woods and pretended we were in the Games."

"Your girl." Repeated Annie. "Katri Galloway, right? We were in the same class before she went to Training."

"Yeah." Triston breathed. "I think…" He was quiet for a long moment. "I think I might miss her most of all about home. This probably isn't the right place to say it – it sounds cheap, like I'm using it for sponsors."

"Not if it's real." Annie smiled. It was a radiant smile, the sort you never saw in the Games. "When something's real, nothing can touch it. You can't fake it. If what you feel is real, then she'll know."

Triston returned her smile and stood up. He craned his head and seemed to be looking up through the tunnel winding up to the sky. "Katri, I think I love you." He whispered into the night. "And when I come home, I'm going to marry you. If you'll have me." He added almost shyly, sounding for the first time like the young boy he truly was.

"I hope you do." Annie confessed. "I hope one of us makes it home. That way if I die, I'll die peacefully knowing that you'll be going home to your love."

He crouched down over her and grasped her hands, his smile wider now. "One of us _is _going to make it home, Annie. I can feel it. We're the only team left in the alliance. We're the healthiest and the strongest. One of us is going to win."

Her lips curved as she closed her eyes blissfully. "I think you could be right," She whispered, opening her eyes again.

Just in time to see the axe cleave Triston's head clear off.

"Fuck me!" Chaff exclaimed as the cannon went off. Cecilia jerked up out of her cot and screamed at the sight of Triston's head rolling on the cavern floor. Mags, old reliable Mags who wasn't shaken by anything anymore, squeezed Finnick's hand so hard she accidentally drew blood.

The pain was a good thing. It brought him out of his shock.

"God damnit!" He jumped up from his cot and scrambled to the screen. Inspecting it didn't change the scene. Triston's head was cleanly separated from his body. Tiberius was grinning sickly, his axe swinging casually in his hands. And Annie was just laying there, covered in Triston's blood. Eyes impossibly wide. Not moving. Just staring at Triston's head.

"Huh." Finnick heard from the corner and that was all he needed to pounce on Brutus, dragging him up from his chair and pushing him against the wall.

"Control your fucking Tribute!" He screamed at the larger and older mentor, who he'd momentarily caught off guard. Momentarily, but not for long. Brutus shoved him off and decked him across the face. His nose made a strange squishing noise and there was pain but Finnick and pain had come to an understanding years ago. He snarled and lunged at Brutus again, scratching at his neck savagely and kneeing him in the groin. Brutus retaliated with a push that sent him sprawling into the nearest cot. More blood, but Finnick didn't care, he just needed one punch, one hit to wipe that smirk off Brutus's face.

Surprisingly it was Haymitch who came between the two as an unlikely mediator. Or more accurately, it was Haymitch who bodily pulled Finnick off of Brutus while Lyme stepped in to stop Brutus from going after them. "Easy now, kid." His words were surprisingly sharp and focused, considering all the alcohol he'd drowned himself in that day. "Wouldn't want him _completely_ breaking your face."

Finnick shrugged him off angrily, but Haymitch's words had the desired effect. He was in control once again. The fury was still there though. "Beheading?" He demanded of Brutus. "_That's _what you teach in District Two? He couldn't have stabbed him in back or anything? He had to cut off _his fucking head_?"

Brutus snarled at him. There was blood on his neck, which helped sate Finnick's bloodlust. Slightly. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about your living Tribute than your dead one."

That was when the wail sounded that woke everyone up who hadn't already been roused by Triston's beheading, his cannon and the subsequent fight. It was an unearthly wail, the sound that only ghosts made. The hair on the back of Finnick's neck literally stood up as he turned to see Annie clutching her head, eyes wide and unseeing, her entire body shaking as if the temperature had dropped fifty degrees.

His heart sunk. "Annie…"

Tiberius was walking toward her. "Shame about his girl." He said conversationally. "Explains why you two never fucked. I always figured that you were in love with Odair or something, but _Triston _was the one who wasn't interested. Makes more sense. I always thought you were fucking pathetic anyway." He raised his axe, grinning.

Annie wail turned into a scream, filled with all the rage, hate and grief no one would ever thought that sweet girl could be capable of. She evaded Tiberius's axe and went straight for his eyes, scratching them, digging her thumbs into them. His scream mingled with hers as he clutched his bloodied, oozing eyes.

"You bitch!" His cry was half horror, half fury. He reached blindly for his axe but Annie was on her feet and running past him, out of the cave. Velvet had long-since fled their camp. Annie ran alone through the canyons, her eyes wild and her head jerking around looking up, down, left, right, expecting someone to fly out at her.

Eventually she found a secluded corner and stopped, curling up into a ball and shaking. Her hands went over her ears and she kept repeating "No, no, no" over and over again, the tones shifting like some sort of strange ditty. The whole time her eyes stayed open, flitting around to assess the danger. But there was nothing behind them.

Annie was gone.

* * *

Finnick watched Annie on the projection screen. He was sitting at the top of the Training Center, hoping that the cold air would jolt him back to reality and make him think of a plan. He'd just spent the last hour sending Annie all sorts of sponsor gifts, trying to make her do something other than just clutch her head and rock back and forth. She'd let the parachutes float down around her. One of them even landed on her head and she didn't bother to bat it away: it just slid off her and clattered to the floor. Almost his entire budget was gone.

The little alcove she was huddled in was far away from the other Tributes. Most of them were stationed near the dam. Velvet was making her way back to the Cornucopia, preparing to fight the boy who'd killed Flux. Tiberius was wandering in the cave Annie had left him in. Finnick couldn't tell if he was fully blinded or only partially, but he was definitely relying on touch more than sight at this point. Brutus immediately sent him medicine for his eyes, shooting Finnick glares as if this was all _his _fault. He'd never taught Annie to go for the eyes. That had just been her instinct.

He heard someone come up behind him and turned around. "What do you want?" It was rude, definitely more bitter and petulant that Capitol Finnick should have been. He was just too damned tired and empty to play his role.

Besides, Haymitch definitely was not a tool for the Capitol. He never did anything for Snow other than come here every year and watch a few Tributes die. Snow killed every single person in his life a long time ago. The frightening thing was, Finnick could see himself standing in Haymitch's shoes not too long from now.

"Wanted to make sure you weren't an idiot enough to jump." Haymitch settled down next to him.

Finnick shrugged. "There's a force field there. Everyone knows that."

"True. But every now and then someone surprises me and tries." Haymitch regarded him. "Just like you surprised me when you attacked Brutus. Here I was thinking you were on _their _side."

Finnick couldn't help it. He snorted. "_Their _side?"

"Yeah." Haymitch took a swig from his flask. Finnick wondered if he'd ever seen Haymitch without something to drink in his hand. His memories came up short. "The Careers. Them versus everyone else. That divide doesn't end after the Games."

No it did not. Finnick just didn't care because he had his own problems dividing him from everyone else. "I'm not on anyone's side." He told Haymitch.

"Just your own, huh?"

_I'm on my side _least _of all. _"Sure." Finnick said instead, wrapping his arms around his legs. This probably made him look very small and child-like, but he didn't care about impressing Haymitch. He just wanted the older Victor to leave him alone to his thoughts.

"She's not going to make it out of there." Haymitch almost sounded sympathetic. "There's nothing else you can do."

Finnick finally looked him in the eyes. "There's _always _something more you can do."

* * *

He got the call on the morning of the thirteenth day. Cecelia called him awake hesitantly – they all knew better than to rouse a sleeping Victor, after all. His eyes fluttered open to see her anxious face over him.

He shot up, his back aching after falling asleep in his chair. "What happened?" Finnick's gaze swept the screens. Annie was hardly moving in her nook, but she was still alive and alone.

"You have a call." She gestured to the phone. "A sponsor."

A sponsor? Finnick had been calling in favors for days, making promises and cutting deals that he probably didn't have the authority to follow through on. For all his efforts the money had been trickling in agonizingly slowly. Annie was not responding to anything he sent her. They'd seen him waste sponsor money and more importantly, they said she was never going to make it. There was nobody willing to sponsor Annie. And there was _definitely _nobody calling him about it.

Finnick practically tripped over his own feet in his rush to the phone. "Hello?" He asked, hating how fatigued his voice was.

"Hi, is this Annie's mentor?"There was a familiar lilt to that voice. It was definitely not a Capitol accent. Could this woman be from District Four or was it just his imagination?

He leaned against the wall. "Yes, this is Finnick Odair speaking. May I ask who this is?"

"Abigail Cresta." Finnick closed his eyes. Shit. "I'm Annie's mother."

After a long moment, his tongue unstuck to the top of his mouth and he forced it to work. "Hi Mrs. Cresta." His own District Four accent slipped in without him even trying. Or maybe he'd just stopped bothering to suppress it. He paused again, trying to figure out what to say. _How are you doing? _seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. "What do you need?"

_My daughter back_, he expected her to say, but she did not. "I stayed awake all night watching the Games." Mrs. Cresta whispered. "I haven't been able to sleep much since, well…" _Me too_, Finnick wanted to say. He stayed quiet and listened. "And she just doesn't seem to be there anymore. She needs something to tie her back to reality."

Finnick ran a hand through his hair. He was startled to discover it was actually greasy, which Ravari never allowed while he was in the Capitol. "I know. I was hoping she might respond to some of the sponsor gifts but she didn't even open them." He'd sent her everything in the gift catalogue that could possibly remind her of home. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what else I can do for her."

He hoped he sounded genuine. Mrs. Cresta like everyone else in the world had to know of his reputation. She wouldn't have been pleased to learn that he was the one responsible for Annie's safety. It was important to Finnick that she know he truly did care.

"I had an idea." Mrs. Cresta told him, her voice becoming stronger. "Is it possible to send something down without a container? So that she could see it without opening it?"

"I don't know." Finnick replied wearily. "It would probably take a lot of arm-pulling on my end but I'd be willing to do that." He'd be willing to do anything at this point. "Did you have a specific gift in mind?"

"Yes." She sounded more hopeful now. "I remembered something from her interview – Annie said she wanted to live because she wanted to learn my shrimp and grits recipe. Would it be possible to send that to her?"

Now there was an idea. Unfortunately, it couldn't be done. "No." The regret in his voice was impossible to fake. "We can put in a request for a special gift, one that's not in the catalogue – mentors pick gifts out of a catalogue," He explained to her, "But that gift has to be something we can buy in the Capitol. It can't be anything delivered from the District and it definitely can't be a hand-written, unpublished recipe. For all they know, we could put a secret code into the recipe about where the other Tributes are located, or what dangers are coming her way. I'm sorry. It really was a good idea."

"Oh." Now she sounded just as defeated as Finnick. Excellent. "I was just…" Her voice was choked with tears. "I was so _proud _of my baby girl when she went onstage. So many Tributes lie and pretend to be someone they're not, in what could be the last time their families hear them speak, you know?"

"Yes ma'am." Oh, Finnick definitely knew _all _about that.

"But she got up there and she was so beautiful and so completely _Annie_. She amazed everyone just being herself, speaking words that I could tell were from her heart. There she was, prepared to fight to the death and she was just so…" There was a muffled sob. "So _Annie_. And I know that she's in there still, she has to be. I have two other children: an older girl and a younger boy. My husband died years ago. Felicia and Drew…they always struggled with that. It was like they didn't know who to be without a father." Her words were clawing closer to Finnick's heart, too close for comfort. "Annie, though, she knew. She always did. She never drowned in the bigger picture of who she was supposed to be. She was wise and knew that it was the little things, the little moments that made her who she was."

"She still is." Finnick cut in, unable to bear the way Mrs. Cresta was talking about Annie in past tense. "She still is that way. I…" His throat was thick. "I haven't known her for very long but she's…" _Touched me. Changed me. Healed me. Saved me? _"…Made an impression on me in just that short time. She's a special person. I'm sure you've seen that in the arena too."

"Yes." Mrs. Cresta was half-laughing, half-crying. "That poor District One girl didn't know what to do with her!"

Finnick laughed as well at the memory of Velvet's absolute befuddlement at Annie's kindness. She looked at her as if Annie were some sort of fantastical creature, a character from a fairy tale…

His eyes widened. "Mrs. Cresta, do you know what book Annie was reading the night before the Reaping?"

It took Mrs. Cresta a moment to reply. "Yes… 'The Odyssey,' I believe. A very old story, older than time. Annie found it among her father's old things and just had to read it."

"Okay, I've had a thought." Finnick could almost taste the adrenaline electrifying his revelation. "If I could track down a copy of that book in the Capitol, I may be able to get them to accept it as a special gift. And then I'll convince them to let me send it down without a container. That may be enough to pull Annie back."

"That's brilliant!" Mrs. Cresta cried, sounding incredibly impressed. "Oh, but that will cost so much money, I'm sure. And I'm sure all those gifts you already sent her have depleted your funds." She hesitated. "A man came by the docks the other day, asking about our boat. I'm sure that would be enough-"

"No." Finnick told her firmly. He was _not _going to let Mrs. Cresta sell her boat on a venture that may not be possible, probably was not going to help Annie at all and even if it did wouldn't guarantee her survival. "Don't worry about the money, I've got that handled."

"Are you sure?" There was a mix of relief and worry in Mrs. Cresta's voice. "Because it's not that much trouble – I would gladly sell my house and the clothes off my back for the slightest chance of bringing Annie home."

The maternal love was so powerful it was hurting Finnick. "Yes, I'm sure." He hoped his voice was firm enough. He could get the money, faster and easier than Mrs. Cresta could. "Mrs. Cresta, thank you so much."

"No, _thank you_!" Mrs. Cresta was astonished, he could hear it. "She's my daughter, I'm expected to do this sort of thing. But I'm so happy that you care so much about bringing her home."

"It's my job as a mentor, ma'am." As he said these words, Finnick could almost feel every single eye in the room looking at him suspiciously. He'd never done anything like this before. Hell, he'd never even stayed in the Training Center for a full day before this year. They could all gladly fuck off and mind their own business.

Finnick finally knew whose side he was on.

Annie's.

* * *

Making the arrangements for the book and the lack of container was difficult. What was _more _difficult was making them with only the promise of money to come. In Finnick's entire time of mentoring, his sponsorship funds had never run this low.

"Just get everything ready, alright?" He snapped into the phone. He'd been staying on the District Four floor since Mrs. Cresta called him, for privacy. It was tradition for all the mentors to watch together, mostly so they could strategize together, make bets and beat each others' faces in when their Tributes lost. If a mentor stayed away, the other's suspected he or she was plotting something. It didn't matter to Finnick at this point: they knew exactly what he was plotting. They just didn't know how he planned to obtain it. "I'll have the money for you in just a few hours." He said as he buttoned his shirt, leaving about half of them undone.

"Alright." The gift-manager's voice was grudging. "But we're not dropping anything until the money is in our funds. And if you don't give us the money, we're going to charge you personally for all these expenses."

"Whatever. I'll have it for you soon." Finnick shut off the phone. They could charge whatever they wanted to him, he had more money than any person should have. Unfortunately it was absolutely forbidden for mentors to sponsor their Tributes. Some mentors found a way around that, giving bribes to other people for sponsoring their Tributes. They got in massive trouble when they were caught, though.

No, Finnick had a more effective form of bribery.

He met Eloise Halspeth for lunch in her manor's garden and told her all about Annie and the book he wanted to send her. She was well cultured for a Capitol woman and actually knew the book that Mrs. Cresta mentioned. "I absolutely _adore _Greek mythology," She told Finnick who nodded as if he understood what she was saying, "Your girl must be very smart to be into that sort of reading material."

"The smartest." Finnick agreed, rubbing Eloise's thigh under the table. "And kind, too. Remember how she treated that girl's leg?" Eloise nodded. "Don't you think someone like her ought to be shown a bit of compassion while _she's _vulnerable?"

Eloise smiled at him and he could tell she was seriously thinking about it. "You've never seemed very sentimental about your Tributes to me, Finnick. What makes this girl special, compared to all the Careers you've trained?"

"I have a weakness for sweet things." He whispered to her, like he was telling her his darkest secret.

She cupped his chin. "You're not telling me you desire the girl, are you?"

It took a great deal of strength to control his stomach's upheaval. _Desire _and _Annie _were two thoughts that did not belong in the same world as each other. "God no." He told her truthfully. "I don't lust after little girls."

"Whom do you lust for?" Eloise whispered into his ear.

He brushed his lips against her cheek. "Women."

And that was it: he had her.

Finnick felt strange when they collapsed against Eloise's plush couch (she'd been unable to make it to the bedroom). He'd wrangled deals with his handlers before to cut down his price for certain individuals who sponsored his Tributes. Many of the sponsors who poured in at the beginning were either patrons he'd serviced or mistaken people who believed that was the way to earn his favor. Sometimes he talked about Tributes during an appointment and his clients promised to sponsor them.

But he'd never outright traded sex for sponsorship money before. It made him feel dirtier, more like a whore than he'd ever felt. It also gave him a sense of power and control. _He _was the one gaining from this, not the Capitol. Which made him worry about possible repercussions from Snow. What would he say about Finnick insisting he have the Games off only to service a woman of his own volition, for his own profit?

This was making him feel many things and Finnick didn't have time for any of them. He needed to focus: Eloise had already agreed on an amount, he just needed to make sure she transferred it to his funds before he left.

She was proving to be chatty, unfortunately.

"I haven't done that for a long time." She sighed, not bothering to cover herself with a couch cushion or blanket. The windows were wide open and there were gardeners in the lawn. "Not since my divorce."

Clearly she wanted to confide in him. Finnick decided to humor her, hoping it would make the conversation go by faster. "Your divorce?" He prompted.

"Yes, I got divorced six months ago, it was a dreadful affair." She sighed tragically. "It was all very hush-hush, what with my ex-husband's job and everything."

She wanted him to ask. "What was his job?"

"Oh, he's the Head Gamemaker." As always, Finnick felt a cold rush of apprehension even at the mention of such a monster. "Crusis Lascius – you can understand why I didn't want to keep his last name, it's a bear to pronounce. It came as such a shock – we seemed to be doing so well – until I discovered a few secrets he'd been hiding from me."

Finnick remembered the secret Scarlett had told him and the feeling of power he'd gained in learning it. "What secrets?"

She leaned in close. "First of all, he preferred males and was seeing a few others on the side." She shook her head. "But that in itself wouldn't have been a problem. I know many men who prefer their own sex. And obviously they're going to have to fulfill those needs on the side – after all, it's not as if they could marry a man!" She laughed at her own joke. "The problem was _who _he was seeing. They were boys – some not too young, about your age, but some definitely underage. Regardless, he had a taste for young boys. And when he couldn't find any willing to satisfy his needs, he'd take one unwillingly." She shuddered. Finnick hadn't imagined it. "And several years back, he was so violent he actually _killed _a boy in the throes of passion. Yes, I know, horrible isn't it?" She took in Finnick's queasy expression, mistaking it for natural disgust rather than familiar horror. When he'd first begun, there had been a few times with some of the more violent customers – such as Paprik – that he'd actually feared for his life. Eloise's story hit too close to home.

"That's awful." Finnick finally managed. His body felt very still and he could feel the faint stirrings of one of those panic attacks he hadn't gotten in a long time. He clenched his muscles and willing himself to ride it out. If he frightened Eloise now, she might not donate the money he needed. All his effort went toward suppressing the anxiety. _You're good, you're good, you're good, _Finnick reassured himself.

Fortunately, Eloise didn't require anything more from him at the moment. "Needless to say, when I discovered this I wanted to go to the Peacekeepers. He tried to stop me, offered me a ridiculous amount of money to keep quiet. Eventually he gave me a divorce and nearly every penny he owned. Six months later, he's still practically broke." Her voice was childish and gleeful. "And I think between being worried I'll rat him out, keeping busy to try to pay the bills and simply not having enough money to pay anyone for their company, he's been having a miserable, lonely time of it. He just recently got engaged to the most horrible, ugly woman, just for her money! Serves him right."

_Serves him right_. No, what would serve him right would be _prison_. Finnick's entire being was clambering for justice for that dead boy. There was no use. What could he do? If he went to the Peacekeepers and told them, they'd laugh in his face. He could let it slip to President Snow, but the old bastard probably already knew and was using it for blackmail.

There was nothing Finnick could do but try to shove that unwanted information deep into the recesses of his brain and focus on lighter things. "Well, I'm glad you got all of that money, Eloise." He told her, forcing a smile. "Now you can put it toward a worthy cause. You can show your ex-husband how much _better _of a person you are."

Eloise stroked his face, looking peaceful. "It's like you were sent from God to help me atone for his sins." She breathed. "Let me make that call."

* * *

It was past four o'clock when the book floated down toward Annie. The camera zoomed in on it immediately, since it was such an unusual gift. What was a book doing in the Arena? Claudius Templesmith speculated. Did it have some sort of special meaning?

It drifted right down in front of Annie's face. She still didn't move and for a few heart wrenching seconds Finnick didn't think she even knew it was there. Slowly though, she lifted her head up and removed one of her hands from her ears. She was gaunt and shivering after not eating or drinking for nearly two days. Her hand quaked as she reached for the book, which was lying face down. It took her a few moments to summon the strength to turn it over. When she did, her lips released a hoarse cry.

Cladius Templesmith announced to the audience that this was the book she'd been reading before she was reaped and in the corner of the screen they played a brief clip of her speech about what she had to live for. This was the main reason they'd agreed to let Finnick do this: it was dramatic and made for great viewing.

Annie tentatively unwound herself for the first time in days. Her other hand reached for the book and she lifted it toward her. She brought it to her nose and simply smelled the pages. Then she began thumbing through it knowingly, until she reached a point near the end. Her lips quivered as she read, tears running down her face. Just as Finnick was thinking that she was wasting the precious water she had in her body, she turned and rummaged through the scattered gifts around her. She pocketed the seaweed rolls and dried fruit before finding the large canteen of water and drinking from it.

Finnick felt himself unwind now. She was drinking. Then she was eating. She was keeping herself alive, putting herself back together to read the book. Eventually the sun set and there was no more light by which she could read. So she tucked the book under her arms and closed her eyes, finally sleeping through the night.

She finished the book the next day. Once she shut its spine he was worried she would retreat back into herself, that she had only been living to know how the story ended. But she kept eating. She kept drinking. She fell asleep again that night.

She was alive again.

* * *

A/N: And there you have it! I was going to fit all of Annie's games into this chapter, but it was getting a bit lengthy.

Thank you all for your incredible feedback! I'm a Potterhead now and forever, but I think I may like Hunger Games fans better than Potter fans. Then again, I think all the Hunger Games fans are the sensible Harry Potter fans (there's definitely an overlap).

Things I would like to see: Jo Rowling and Suzanne Collins collaborating on something together. Now _that _would be epic.

For all you Johanna fans, check out the little oneshot I uploaded. It sort of connects to this story.


	4. Part Four

A/N: I'm sorry, I had some edits to do and the site wouldn't let me replace the content for some weird reason so I had to delete the chapter and resubmit it. For those of you who've already read Part Four (it was released EARLY this morning), this is not a new chapter.

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: I can't believe I actually wrote this chapter. It's so horrible and twisted and wrong. Warnings for everything terrible you would expect to see in a Finnick story

* * *

Part Four

* * *

It was time for the Games to be finished. Ignotius, the boy from District Nine and this year's dark horse, was beginning to run out of lizards to hunt from his camp at the perimeter. Velvet, who had claimed ownership of the Cornucopia and lost an ear in the process, had nearly run through the horn's meager supplies. Tiberius's eyes were healing slowly, thanks to Brutus's medicine, and he spent his days pointlessly wasting energy climbing rock formations in an effort to scour the Arena and find Annie.

Annie was living in her private world, safe in the little nook on the other side of the Arena from the other Tributes. She drank and ate and occasionally stretched her aching limbs, but she was clearly not going to compete in the Games again. Her eyes would oscillate between hysterical and darting, to vacant and lifeless. Her hands remained at her side and away from her ears fortunately, but she would laugh and make noises at things that were not there.

"Well of course _you _would think that." She spoke one day out of the blue, startling all of the mentors in the Watching Room. Aside from Tiberius's occasional swears of frustration, none of the Tributes had spoken for days. It had to make for very boring television, which made Finnick wonder what the Gamemakers were waiting for. Where was the natural disaster that would draw them all together? Tiberius had still been blind for the Feast, Ignotius had too comfortable of a camp set up to need anything, and Annie was practically catatonic. Velvet had made quick work of the pair from District Five and that was the last bit of excitement in the Games.

"They want Two to win." Betee murmured, figuring out the puzzle before any of them. "They're waiting for his eyes to heal and then they'll set something in motion."

Brutus looked pleased at this and shot Finnick a hateful look. Haymitch may have stopped them from tearing each other apart, but something told Finnick this feud was only beginning. Rather than pump his blood with adrenaline, the thought made him weary and impatient. He didn't have time for this pettiness. He had a Tribute to bring home, a Tribute who had against all odds survived to the final four. They had now reached the point where his plan ended, the one step he hadn't figured out. Of course, his plan had fallen to shit the minute Triston was beheaded, but he'd been able to improvise and give Annie the help she needed. He couldn't help her now. He'd known from the very beginning the Finale would be up to her. Only he had hoped she would be strong from surviving off sponsorship gifts. He had never imagined she would have been drifting in and out of the world. Worse still, she was almost through all the gifts he'd sent her and he had absolutely no more funds. And at this point, he was not going to leave the room to squeeze a few coins out of a sponsor. It wouldn't be worth it.

She was going to die, Finnick was sure of it. He could at least have the decency to be here when it happened.

The saddest part of it all was that her last few days would be filled with pain and madness. Finnick didn't believe strongly in many things anymore, but he knew without a doubt that someone like Annie deserved to die with grace, peace and respect. Instead the entire world was watching her tortured last moments. He was sure the people in the Districts were horrified, and maybe some of the Capitol people too, but what did the politicians of the Capitol think? What did Snow think? What were the Gamemakers thinking as they watched this sad shell of a girl – this _wonderful _girl who had crept into his heart like the morning mist – barely grip on to reality? They must not have seen what Finnick saw, what anyone who was human would have seen. Or maybe the problem was the other way around. Maybe the Gamemakers simply didn't think of Tributes as humans. They certainly didn't think of them as _children. _They were props in a play, pieces on a board. And to them, Annie was the chewed up, broken piece that needed to be disposed of because it had fulfilled its use. Like a toy they could just throw away.

The sun was setting and Tiberius climbed back down to the ground angrily. He still couldn't see in the dark at all, so he had to take cover under a fort of fallen rocks. The cameras loved to follow Tiberius and Finnick thought Betee was probably right. Tiberius, as the chosen favorite from the beginning and the only Tribute proactively doing anything at the moment, was the darling of the Gamemakers. They were waiting until he was in a position where he could win. Which meant that for the night, the rest of the Tributes were safe.

The cameras panned up to show the entire Arena. As always, Finnick was struck by how much like a bowl it looked like. He'd read once that canyons were created by old rivers and bodies of water washing away the rock. The maze of this Arena was a bit too intricate to have been fully designed by the Gamemakers. The basis of it was probably one they had found, before adding extra features to it – the reservoir of water being one of them. It made sense for the water to be held back the way that it was. With the shape of the Arena, any other bodies of water would have formed streams and rivers that rushed toward the center, eventually forming an island around the Cornucopia and leaving behind their former homes. That would have made for an interesting Game: if all the water started toward the edge and made its way toward the middle, changing the way the Tributes treated their resources completely. Ignotius certainly wouldn't have any sort of advantage if that had been the case. Finnick's mind imagined the wall disappearing and all the water rushing toward the center. Except no, they wouldn't do that. There was far too much water behind the circular dam, it would devastate the entire Arena, completely destroy it…

Finnick stiffened and sat up straighter in his chair. If that dam burst, it would do more than destroy the Arena. It would _flood _it. The walls were higher, much higher than even the tallest rock formation in the Arena. There would be no climbing, no escape. The only choice would be to swim and there was only one Tribute in the Arena who could do that.

If the Arena flooded Annie would survive. She would go home and her mother could touch her again, hug her. She could learn all those things she wanted to. She would experience life and be a far better Victor than Finnick was.

Unfortunately, that would never happen. He slunk back into his seat, his heart still beating fast from his sudden revelation. It was a risky maneuver. Such a devastating event this late in the Game could kill all of the Tributes, leaving them with no Victor. Besides, the Gamemakers favored Tiberius. They knew the Tributes' strengths and weaknesses as well as Finnick and would never give Annie an advantage like that. They had no reason to favor her.

"_I had reason to favor the girl from Eight…"_

Because no one had _given _them a reason to. Finnick found himself wondering if Tiberius's favoritism was a result of a bribe. But no, Tiberius had probably caught their eye from the very beginning. He was strong, from District Two. No one would have bothered making any deals with the Gamemakers for him. That was the sort of thing people only did for Tributes they knew wouldn't make it – like Cecilia, he suddenly realized. Or Annie.

Except there was no one out there with both the motivation and means to do so. The mayor of District Four probably had the means to do so, but not the motivation. Finnick and Mrs. Cresta both certainly had the motivation, but not the means. The Capitol tracked Finnick's bank account down to the last penny. Even if he withdrew a large amount and pretended it was for another reason, they would know. For all his fame and wealth, he was truly powerless.

"_He tried to stop me, offered me a ridiculous amount of money to keep quiet."_

No. Finnick rose from the chair. He was _not _powerless. There were other means to accomplish what he needed, other methods he could use to sway the Gamemakers' favor. Or rather, the _Head Gamemaker's. _

"Where are you going?" Mags's eyes were nervous.

He forced an easygoing smile onto his face. "Out for a walk. I need some air." He waved at the screen dismissively. "Everyone else is miles from her and the Gamemakers won't do anything drastic while Tiberius is blind. They want him to win, after all." Out of the corner of his eye, Finnick saw Brutus smirk.

Mags's hand shot out and grabbed Finnick by the wrist. "Be careful."

He patted her hand, his heart smarting at her concern. Oh, Mags. "I _did _survive the Hunger Games you know," Finnick told her teasingly. "I think I can survive a little walk."

The unspoken words between them echoed as if they were in the Arena as well. Mags released his wrist and he tried not to seem too eager to escape her worried eyes.

* * *

Finnick felt strange as he walked up the stairs to the elaborate Capitol house. He was dressed in the comfortable t-shirt he'd been sleeping in and some District Four pants he'd snuck onto the train. He'd finally washed his hair and while it wasn't greasy anymore, it was still damp and dripping slightly, without any of the highlights Ravari liked to add to it. For the first time in the Capitol, there wasn't a spot of makeup on him. If anyone looked at him closely, he was obviously Finnick Odair. But no one bothered to look at him, with his plain clothes and averted eyes. It was like Mags had said: the Capitolites were children who gravitated toward shinny objects. So once Finnick purposefully dulled his shine a bit, their eyes drifted right over him, which suited his needs perfectly.

Anonymity was the first reason behind his wardrobe change.

He knocked on the door, calming his rapidly beating heart. _You are Finnick Odair, you are a Victor, you are strong…_none of those words helped him stay resolute. They were empty words, hollow words that meant nothing, had not meant anything for years. And why would they? He'd been an empty shell for the past few years, an oyster you cracked open to find no pearl inside. There was only one thing that had any meaning for his life now. _Annie_.

_You are doing this for Annie. You are doing this for Annie. You are doing this for Annie._

The door opened and Finnick's heart was still. He was doing this for Annie.

It took Crusis Lascius a few minutes to recognize him. "Mr. Odair." He said in surprise, looking him up and down, taking in his modest appearance. "What a surprise!"

Something strange was happening to Finnick's chest. It was expanding with relief that Lascius was here at all – he'd had no idea if the Gamemakers went home at any point during the Games, or if they slept at the Game Control Center the way mentors stayed in the Watching Room – and tightening with dread. He licked his lips nervously and stepped forward. "Can we talk somewhere?" Finnick whispered. "In private?"

Lascius glanced behind him. Finnick couldn't see anyone, but he knew from the lights that were on in the rest of the house that someone else was home. He just wasn't sure if it was Lascius's fiancée or possibly Avoxes.

"Sure." Lascius said readily, too readily for his fiancée to be there. Avoxes then. He led the way up the stairs and continued past his study – to his bedroom, probably – but Finnick stepped into the study like he hadn't notices Lascius was continuing on. A moment later Lascius appeared back in the study, an unreadable expression on his face. "You must know this is completely against the rules, of course. A mentor meeting with the Head Gamemaker."

But he was breaking the rules anyway. That was a good sign. "I know." Finnick found he didn't have to fake the hoarseness in his voice. He was so anxious it came naturally. "But I didn't know what else to do."

"Sit down." Lascius gestured to a chair and reached for a decanter filled with a dark red liquid. "Would you like a drink?"

Finnick made sure his reply was ready and grateful. "Yes, thank you." Lascius turned his back on Finnick and poured a single glass of wine. Finnick took it and tried not to wince as he quickly downed the heavy drink. It oozed down his throat like lava.

"Better?" Lascius asked him sympathetically, taking a seat next to Finnick rather than across the desk.

"Yes." Finnick nodded and set the glass down. "These Games have been so stressful, you have no idea." Lascius's position right next to him forced him to adjust his posture so that he was turned toward the Gamemaker.

"Tell me about it."

There was something eerily similar about the way Lascius prodded Finnick. It was almost akin to the way Finnick prompted his clients to tell him their secrets. "I usually do such a good job of staying impartial." Finnick told him. "Because, you know, I haven't had a Tribute make it out of the Arena yet. I'm used to thinking they're going to die. But the girl this year, Annie…" He took a deep breath and noticed how that simple action took slightly more effort than it normally would. "I started to really like her. I got too close and I started to _really care _if she survived. That's why I made sure she was in the Career alliance at the last moment. That's why I made Triston promise to protect her. That's why I depleted all my funds to send her that book. I've just been so desperate, trying to figure out a way to bring her back." He looked at Lascius with heartbroken, pleading eyes. "And that's when I realized it was out of my control. Only Gamemakers have the ability to decide who gets to come home. You have the ultimate control."

Those words were like gold to a man like Lascius. He smiled, edging closer. "The Gamemakers don't decide everything that goes on in that Arena. You know that well…I remember your Games."

Blood everywhere. The Trident's golden coat covered in it, its prongs leaving puncture wounds in the girl from One's skin. He'd known her name once but couldn't bear to remember it. "That was different." Finnick whispered. "Everyone says it's going to be a Gamemaker caused Finale this time. And there has to be _something _you can do that will give her an advantage."

"Now Finnick," Lascius said sternly. Finnick didn't like how he seemed to think they were on a first-name basis now. "You're not seriously suggesting I _tamper _the Games somehow?"

Because Lascius was such an upstanding citizen who'd never do anything immoral. "_Please_." Finnick's voice quaked with despair. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm desperate. I can't bear the thought of her dying."

"Desperate, hmm?" Lascius leaned in closer, catching on to that word as Finnick knew he would. "How desperate?"

He leaned away from Lascius and steeled himself. _You are doing this for Annie. _"I would do _anything_." He begged. "Anything you wanted, just name it. You…you can do anything you want with me."

Lascius's hand reached forward and grabbed Finnick roughly by the hair. "Say it." He hissed. "Tell me what you'll let me do to you."

"If you let Annie live, I'll let you fuck me." He whispered, the shame practically vibrating throughout the air. There was no point in hiding it: Lascius was the Head Gamemaker, part of Snow's inner-circle and had been in charge of Finnick's Games. If anyone knew he wasn't a whore by choice, it was Lascius.

The hand twisted in his hair and Finnick allowed himself to release a cry of pain. Lascius would like that. "That's all I wanted to hear." The Gamemaker whispered, bringing his lips close to Finnick's ear. "But you know, I really don't need your permission. I can take whatever I want. And I sure as hell don't need to do something idiotic like rig the Games to get it."

Finnick tried to jerk the hand out of his hair then, but his limbs were sluggish. "Like hell you can!" He snarled, for once acting like the angry, violent Victor he truly was inside. He kicked and punched and managed to land a few solid blows on Lascius, who looked more and angry and more turned on with every beating he took. Eventually Lascius forced him against the wall, slamming him so solidly his vision actually _swam. _The dizziness was unbearable and he was certain that if Lascius wasn't holding him up, he'd slide to the floor. "What did you _do _to me?" He tried to push against Lascius again, but the Gamemaker held him against the wall. Lascius was big and tall, taller even than Finnick, but he did not have the fighting experience Finnick did and should not have been able to overcome the furious Victor so easily.

Lascius smirked. "You'd think after all your time in the Capitol, you would have learned to be more careful accepting drinks from strangers." His smirk turned into a sneer. "But maybe they still haven't totally done away with your innocence." He pressed a large palm underneath Finnick's shirt. "Maybe you still are that poor little District Four boy deep down."

This was the second reason behind his wardrobe change.

Seduction was different with every person. For most, it was a variation on the same theme: guilty pleasures, sordid pleasures, sweet pleasures. But ultimately _pleasure_. He would run his hand up their thigh, press some kisses on the nape of their neck and treat them like something to be cherished. His stylist made him beautiful, so that the mere sight of him would bring his clients pleasure. Most Capitolites liked him that way: all worldly, corrupt and experienced. There were the rare few who preferred plainer things. They enjoyed youth and naiveté. Some of them did so because they prized innocence.

Others wanted to destroy it.

From Eloise's story, it hadn't taken Finnick long to realize that was the angle he was going to have to take this particular seduction with. He couldn't just show up and tell Lascius to take his clothes off. Lascius, who had so much to lose with a new rich fiancé he depended completely upon, would never have taken that risk. When he'd tried to lead Finnick to his bedroom, he'd been testing him. When Finnick went into the study he was certain he'd passed Lascius's task, but he also knew it had undoubtedly frustrated him. Every single move Finnick had made – from carefully selecting an outfit that radiated youth and innocence to feigning naiveté as to the cause for his sudden weakness – was for the sole purpose of pushing Lascius to this point: the point of absolutely no control.

Eloise had not been kidding when she said he was frustrated. Lascius flung Finnick against the desk with the same ferocity the boy from Two had pushed him down with at the Cornucopia blood bath. Finnick's head hit a lamp and he winced. He had the feeling he was going to come away from this with quite a few suspicious marks. If Lascius had any sense remaining in him he would have stopped there to consider the consequences of marking up the Capitol's most popular Victor's face. But he had no semblance of control left, which was what Finnick was counting on.

It still _hurt _though. Finnick definitely did not have to fake the winces or occasional cries of pain as Lascius roughly manhandled him against the desk. Okay, maybe they were slightly exaggerated, but only because he was so used to hiding his pain. Lascius dragged off Finnick's shirt, his nails digging into his back and suddenly he became the woman with the black nails, stripping him of that satin sheet and his dignity for the first time. When he went for Finnick's pants he somehow became the Peacekeepers and Paprik all at once: the hands were definitely theirs, carelessly shoving aside his modesty, almost military-like, but his eyes were Paprik's. Greedy and hungry. Always so hungry. Finnick didn't understand it. He had never been hungry.

When he leaned over Finnick, his sweaty shirt pressing up against Finnick's bare back uncomfortably, his hands pushing his hips into the sharp wood of the desk, he became Yvonne, forcing his tongue down Finnick's throat until he was choking and crying. Finnick hadn't truly cried in years. But he was putting on a show tonight and it felt strangely good to finally show on the outside what he felt on the inside every time he fucked a patron.

The good feeling vanished when Lascius pushed himself inside of Finnick so harshly it was as if he was trying to shove right through him. _Fuck, is he trying to drill a hole or what? _He thought sarcastically, clinging to his ability to inwardly snark his way through this. It was hard though, with Lascius continuing to increase his force. Finnick's fingernails started to hurt and he realized with surprise that he was digging them into the wood of the desk. _Good, another indisputable piece of evidence of what happened here. _He would need as much as he could get. Finnick tried to actually push himself away from the desk now, intending to escape from Lascius only to be caught once more and possibly do more damage to some of the other furniture. Only he felt real panic creep in when he found he didn't have the strength to do that. The weakness he'd been somewhat faking before had fully sunk into his bones. He'd taken an antidote to the paralysis drug before coming here, knowing that someone like Lascius was likely to use it as the only sure way to dominate a strong boy like Finnick. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be kicking in yet – he'd taken it too soon before ingesting the wine since he hadn't had time to waste. Now he regretted it: instead of just pretending the situation was out of his control, the situation was actually out of his control.

Lascius responded to his struggles to get free with even harsher movements. He buried one of his hands in Finnick's hair again and pulled his head back against his chest. "Fuck, you don't know…ah!...how long I've wanted this." His hand crept around to Finnick's face and pressed into it. "Ever, ha, ever since the Arena. When you – fuck – got that trident. The look on your, huh, face. Like you were fucking in control." His lips went around to Finnick's ear and he bit on it harshly. "I just wanted to go in there myself and _show you _who was in control." He let out a shuddering gasp. "Who's in control?"

Finnick was busy controlling the tumultuous upheaval of his stomach at this revelation so it took a second for him to realize Lascius was actually asking him a question. "You are." He gasped out dutifully.

"Not very convincing." Lascius brought his other hand up now and yes, Finnick was definitely panicking now because the Gamemaker's hands were wrapped around his throat, choking him. Fuck, Lascius wouldn't kill him would he? Finnick's mind flashed to what Eloise had told him about that boy, the one that could have easily been him. But no, he was Finnick Odair, not some nameless forgotten boy. If Lascius killed him, Snow would bring down hell. "Who's in control?" Lascius demanded again.

_Snow. _That would just make Lascius angrier and it wasn't true in the moment anyway. Finnick had come here in secret of his on volition, without Snow's protection. Lascius was completely crazed and wouldn't think twice about whom he was strangling if he decided to go for the kill. There was only one person in control of this encounter. "You are," Finnick choked out, his voice wheezing and small, "You are, please stop. I can't breathe."

Oddly, revoltingly, it was this admission that caused Lascius to push his way to that final burst of euphoria. He didn't collapse on Finnick or roll off like most people would have. Instead he kept pushing Finnick into the desk with his dick soft but still inside him, his hands around Finnick's neck but relaxed enough that Finnick no longer was worried about dying. When he did let go it was to stand up and shove Finnick to the ground, looking at him like he was an object. Like he wasn't even human.

"Like I said, I can take whatever I want." Lascius told him, his breath hitching. "I'm the Head Gamemaker. I can do whatever the hell I want."

Finnick's strength was slowly returning to him. At first he thought his body was just recovering from the shock of the abuse it had just endured, until he realized the dizziness was going away. "Like killing that boy?" He asked Lascius, his throat rough and ragged.

Lascius rolled his eyes. "Which one?" He pointed out casually and Finnick realized that of course he wouldn't understand what he was talking about. He was the Head Gamemaker. He killed a dozen boys every year.

"I'm not talking about the Tributes." Finnick pushed himself up with his left hand. Adrenaline was pumping through his body now and the rage in his heart was clamoring for revenge. "I'm talking about that boy you _fucked to death_."

Now the Gamemaker froze. Finnick used this opportunity to get to his feet, feeling better once they were on equal footing. Sure, he was naked while Lascius only had his pants unzipped, but nudity didn't both Finnick anymore. It hadn't for years. "I don't know what you're talking–"

"Save it. I know all about your dirty little secret. I heard it from your ex-wife." Lascius's eyes flashed. Absently Finnick hoped he never confronted her about this. She was spoiled and imperfect, but she _had _given him the money for Annie's book. Since she had more money and friends than he, it seemed unlikely he would hurt her. "The question is, does your new wife-to-be know anything about it?" He smirked at Lascius's panicked look. "Yeah, I thought not."

"Like she'd believe anything you'd say." Lascius snarled. "You're nothing more than Snow's whore, everyone knows that."

Finnick cocked his head, grin widening, not bothering to even pretend to be offended. "Yeah they _do, _don't they? And I'd wonder what she'd think if she were to say, walk in here and see me naked, you in that state, and – why, are those _fingernail scratches_ on that desk?" He pretended to examine the wood. "Yes, I believe they _are_."

Lascius's face faltered before a smooth mask settled over it. "Nice bluff. But I can call the Peacekeepers and get you thrown out of here before she comes home." He reached for the phone on the desk.

Finnick feigned an abashed look. "Oh, why didn't I think of that? Why didn't I, say, track your wife down at the party she was attending with her friends, eavesdrop to find out exactly when she would be returning home that night, and time everything perfectly so that she would come home right about now?"

Lascius's hand froze. He frowned. "You can't have found out exactly when she was coming home. There's traffic, she likes to stay and linger longer than necessary." He still wasn't reaching for the phone though.

"Want to find out?" Finnick challenged him. "Go ahead, call the Peacekeepers. I'd love to see her walk through your front door while they're dragging me out."

"I'll tell her the same thing I'll tell the Peacekeepers: that you came here to threaten me into rigging the Games." Lascius seemed to be resolved on his solution as he was now picking up the phone.

His body reacted without Finnick even having to think about it and this time _he _was the one slamming Lascius into the wall. His arm was perfectly poised over Lascius's throat and his entire body weight was shifted so that there was no way the Gamemaker could escape. "See, this is how an _expert _pins someone." Finnick told him pleasantly. "Funny how when I'm no longer drugged you're suddenly no match for me."

The Gamemaker's eyes were narrowed as he deciphered Finnick's words. "How did you overcome the drug?"

He was just as chatty as his ex-wife. This time, Finnick was more than happy to stretch this out for as long as possible. "I happen to have some experience with the paralysis drug." He informed Lascius. "And I figured a coward like you would use it. So I took an antidote beforehand. Took a little longer to work than I planned but," He grinned at Lascius, "The end result is exactly what I wanted."

Lascius squirmed in Finnick's grip. This made him happier than he cared to admit. "What do you want?"

"I told you." He explained patiently. "I want you to rig the Games so that my Tribute wins."

He could hardly blame Lascius for assuming his demand would be different. The atmosphere in the room and Finnick himself had shifted so much from when he was sitting brokenly next to Lascius, begging him to rig the Finale. From the dawning light in the Gamemaker's eyes, Finnick could tell he was starting to understand just how thoroughly everything had been planned out. "That's not going to happen." Lascius spat at him furiously.

A door opened downstairs. From the clacking noise that drifted through the study door, it certainly was not an Avox. Finnick couldn't have asked for better timing. He pushed harder against Lascius's throat. "It'd better, or you're going to find yourself broke again and possibly in prison. You won't have any cash to buy her off with this time."

"It's not possible." A hint of desperation crept through Lascius's voice. "She's too weak. There's nothing I could do that would ensure her victory."

"Flood the Arena." Finnick ordered him. "She's from District Four, she's the only one who can swim. Flood the Arena and have a hovercraft ready to scoop out the survivor as soon as possible."

Lascius shook his head. "It would be too obvious. They'd know. I'd lose my job."

He was much stupider than Finnick thought if he only believed his job was on the line. Fortunately that was to Finnick's advantage. "Disguise it. Make it look like an earthquake, but make sure the dam bursts."

The Gamemaker opened his mouth to argue but fell silent as the heels clicked closer. "Crusis, darling, I'm home!"

Finnick leaned in close to Lascius's ear. "Do we have a deal?" He felt Lascius's nodding. "Good."

He loosened his hold to Lascius's throat, allowing him to speak. "Honey, I'm busy with work." The breathlessness of his voice was covered with irritation. "Just go to sleep."

"Oh, all right." The woman said breezily, passing by the study. "I've had the most _strenuous _day, you have no idea."

Finnick really felt like laughing then, but fortunately stayed silent until the heels disappeared. He turned back Lascius, who was struggling. "All right, I'll do it, now get out of here." Lascius tried to order him.

This time Finnick laughed. It was short and harsh. "Oh no. I don't trust you for a second. You make the call while I'm here." He grabbed Lascius and pushed him toward the phone.

Lascius reached out with trembling fingers and dialed a few quick numbers. "Yes? Hello? Yes, this is Crusis Lascius, Head Gamemaker. I need you to make a massive earthquake in the Arena. And I want the dam to burst too, for dramatic effect. Yes. Right away. Have a hovercraft ready, this is the Finale." He paused. "It came to me in my sleep, damnit don't question me! Good bye." He hung up and glared at Finnick. "Happy now?"

"Not yet." Finnick reached over and turned on the projection screen on the desk, making sure the volume was off. Predictably, it was tuned to the Games. "You could have called anyone. I'm not leaving until I see the proof." He backed off from Lascius. "You can call for help if you want, but remember that your wife is just a few rooms away."

"You sick bastard." Lascius growled, like _he _was the victim here. Finnick ignored him and threw his clothes back on. It was more for his own comfort and ease of escape than anything else: if Lascius's wife came in now, she would have to have the brain matter of a sponge not to notice the marks showing all over Finnick's body, the state of the room and the general smell of sex permeating the air.

He only had to wait a few minutes for the proof. As soon as the screen shook and he saw the entire dam on one side of the Arena crumble down, Finnick made his way to the window. There was a very convenient balcony he could climb down – he'd scoped out the house beforehand. "Just remember, you've committed treason now Lascius." Finnick told him cheerfully. "So you'd better make sure no one even so much as suspects I was here tonight. If they do," He mimed drawing a finger across his throat before pointing at the Gamemaker.

All in all, Finnick thought he held himself together relatively well. He didn't start shaking until he reached the ground and he didn't vomit until he was several blocks away.

* * *

When Finnick stumbled back into the Watching Room, it was utter chaos. Mentors were yelling at the T.V., furiously phoning the Gift Center trying in vain to save their Tributes. The cannon boomed again and again. He felt sick to his stomach but there was nothing left in it for him to expel. This was the best he could do for her. And if it killed her…

Well, at least it ended her suffering quickly.

The lights on the bottom of the screen showed which trackers were still active. Finnick released a satisfied breath when he saw that "4 – Female" was still glowing bright red. The other tracker lights were going out like burnt-out-bulbs.

Brutus let out a scream of fury as Tiberius was ripped away from the rock he was gripping and pulled under. There were a few minutes, then: _Boom. _"2-Male" went out. There were only two left. The camera zoomed to show Ignotius who was holding onto a pillar with a pickaxe he'd dug into the rock. Annie wasn't hold onto anything. She was swimming, riding the current, ducking under the waves. The little display she'd shown earlier in the dam was nothing. Now she was in her element: a true creature of the sea. Finnick couldn't help his grin. Yes, it had definitely been worth it.

There was a roar like an injured bull and something heavy hit him in the side. Brutus grabbed Finnick by his neck and lifted him off of his feet, shoving him into the screen. The lights behind Finnick flickered. "You son of a bitch!" He screamed, eyes wild. "What did you do?"

"Used telekinesis to cause an earthquake, obviously." Finnick cackled, not caring that the screen was cracking behind him. "Come on, don't be a sore loser Brutus."

Brutus snarled and pushed him further into the screen. "You did something, I know you did. It's just too damn convenient that the entire arena would fill up with _water _for the finale."

"I agree." Finnick surprised him by nodding. "It's like they wanted Annie to win. Or rather make sure Tiberius didn't. Maybe they decided they couldn't have a Victor who went around beheading other Tributes. Maybe that was the point that the Capitol decided was 'excessive violence.'" He crowed at Brutus, who flinched. "Face it, you lost. Now let go of me so I can watch my Tribute win."

Ignotius's fingers were slipping. He kept spitting up mouthfuls of water. Annie skillfully maneuvered around the rock formations: that was her worst danger, getting slammed against a rock. Fortunately the water continued to rise. Ignotius's head went under. He closed his eyes.

Annie hit a rock, but she kept on swimming.

_Boom_.

The Seventieth Hunger Games were over.

* * *

A/N: So yeah...I'm sort of disgusted with myself for writing that. But in my head it's totally canon that Finnick rigged the Games. I mean come on, the entire Arena filled up with water? I'm with Brutus.

I've seen this happen in some other fics and most of the time it felt too...easy. Like he just slept with somebody and they decided to go ahead and risk their lives for him. So I made it difficult. Really difficult. Poor Finnick. At least in the end he sort of got his revenge though!

I'm surprised no one called me out on setting this up to happen. I wasn't exactly subtle (considering that the two 'secrets' Finnick has collected so far had to do with rigging the Games).

In case it wasn't clear to anyone, yes Finnick went over there acting innocent and helpless so that Lascius would prey on him and rape him, so that he could get the Gamemaker into a vulnerable situation. However things got a little bit out of hand because nothing ever goes exactly according to plan :( I feel really bad about this chapter. But it was necessary for future chapters.

* * *

A/N: I just edited a few grammatical errors. Also, I wanted to clarify something from last chapter. I hope anyone hasn't gleaned from my writing that I'm anti-gay marriage or anything even remotely close to that. In my head I've worked up this cultural thing where gay marriage was banned because Panem is totalitarian like that, and maybe their population started to get to low so instead of addressing the real problems (like starvation and disease) they did what typical stupid governments do and said, "Hmm, who else can we blame aside from ourselves? I know, there's way too many gay couples running around!" But even though they banned gay marriage they couldn't get rid of the developed belief (this is set in the future after all) that it was just as acceptable to love someone of your gender as the opposite. So in the Districts the situation is pretty much the same as it is in the U.S. today, except with even less legal validity towards gay marriage and more universal acceptance of gay people. Instead of the pervasive belief being, "Oh you're gay, that's weird and unfortunate. Are you sure?" it is, "You're gay, that's going to make life difficult for you but you have no choice in the matter so that's that." Subtle differences, but they're there. In the Districts, the people are used to being told what they cannot do. In the Capitol, where there is a cultural belief that they can do whatever they want. They can let their inhibitions run free, which is why more people are willing to accept the fact that maybe they are gay, or probably bisexual. They understand what is probably true, which is that sexual preference is a sliding scale. This was a little bit too progressive and positive for the Capitol, so I had to put a twist to it. Culturally, you can sleep with whoever you want (except for incest, which is a universal taboo amongst all cultures). However you cannot _marry _whoever you want. In the Capitol among the elite, marriage is for political purposes and providing heirs. So they developed this weird thing where you have to marry someone from the opposite sex, but you can sleep with whoever you want, if both parties knew the marriage was just for convenience, or if they agreed to the arrangement beforehand. Lascius and Eloise did not agree to an arrangement beforehand, but they knew it was out of convenience. The fact that he never wanted to sleep with her was a dead giveaway. So that's why Eloise didn't have a problem with him seeing other people on the side. The problem came when she discovered how young some of them were, how he treated them and the fact that he was a murderer.

It's all very complicated and is a result of my Anthropology class and the way I'm trained to think about these things now (Cultural Anthropology is one of the best classes you can take if you want to be a writer). I just wanted to clarify this because I'm _so _pro-gay-marriage. I live in the most liberal city in the Midwest. I put up the equality picture for my profile picture on Facebook during the whole DOMA thing. I'm not gay, but I totally agree with the whole sliding scale thing. Sexual orientation equality is one of my core beliefs, so it was important to me that no one misunderstand me. In a perfect world everyone could love whoever they wanted and marry whoever they want.

The only reason any of this is presented in a negative way is because it's from Finnick's perspective: a straight boy from District Four whose cultural beliefs are very black and white (you're gay or you're not - though Finnick learned very quickly the Capitol doesn't see sex that way at all). And it's all horrifying but for him as a boy who grew up believing he was only ever going to kiss girls and sleep with girls and one day marry a girl, the idea of touching a man is the worst part of all this for him. Being forced to sleep with people you don't want to is damaging no matter if it is a man or a woman, because the physical pain is only a very small part of the equation. I tried to demonstrate this with his thoughts after Paprik, but I'll show more of this. The pleasuring part is almost a relief to him now, but that will change.

Please leave feedback! Let me know if I scarred your brains for life.


	5. Part Five

A/N: Part Five. Sorry it took so long, I had exams

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Warnings: Nothing bad for this chapter...some language? Next chapter is going to be pretty bad

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Part Five

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They waited until all the other mentors had left the Training Center to "collect him." Dora was off at some party or another and Mags was waiting for Annie outside of the private hospital ward she was locked up in. Annie had been a screaming, wild wreck when they pulled her up onto the hovercraft and had to be sedated immediately. Finnick had waited outside her room for seventeen hours, pacing the hall and pulling at his hair before Mags forced him to go back to the Training Center and get some sleep. He'd tried to protest but she'd given him a look that said _I know what you did_ and he'd reluctantly slunk back to the Center.

The Peacekeepers were waiting outside the suite and even though they didn't handcuff him Finnick honestly thought he was being arrested. His heart pounded until they deposited him in Snow's office and he forced it to slow down. Just being in the President's presence alone caused his chest to constrict with anxiety. If he was already panicking beforehand, the combined stress could give him a heart attack.

"Take a seat." Snow ordered him.

Finnick swallowed and did as he was told. _Am I in trouble? _He wanted to ask. Fortunately the words stayed stuck against the back of his throat.

"Do you know why you're here?"

At first Finnick's instinct was to lie and say, _No_. He could think of several reasons why he was here. His servicing of Eloise under the table to gain sponsor money. The mess he'd put Snow in by giving him a Victor who was broken. And, Finnick truly hoped this wasn't the case, his manipulation of Lascius to rig the Games. "No," He told Snow truthfully, realizing he had no clue as to which transgression Snow wished to discuss with him. All of them? None of them?

"It has to do with the conversation we first had when you became a Victor." Snow told him pleasantly. Finnick hated that he couldn't read him at all. He had no idea when Snow was just being conversational or when he was about to say something that would completely destroy Finnick's life. "About Victors having a symbiotic relationship with the Capitol. As I'm sure you understand by now, the Capitol expects quite a lot from its Victors." Finnick's skin crawled. This was about Annie "Thus, it is important that all Victors be capable of providing some use to the Capitol, in one way or another. Typically the Games themselves are an assurance that only worthy Tributes become Victors, as they are the ones willing and strong enough to do whatever they must to survive. Sometimes Gamemakers are forced to interfere and ensure that the weak ones are…" He paused for a moment, and his careful choice of words made Finnick flinch, "_washed away. _Since Victors are so important to the Capitol, and the Capitol is important to me, when a situation arises that concerns me I involve myself in the Victor selection process, ensuring that the _right _Victor emerges from the Arena."

He stopped talking then and gave Finnick a long look. "Are you saying that Annie is the _wrong _Victor?" That seemed to be where the conversation was headed.

Snow surprised him by shaking his head. "Not at all. If she were, she would not have gotten out of that Arena. I would have not allowed it." Once again he waited for Finnick to respond.

This time, Finnick thought he understood what Snow was getting at. "You're saying that Annie is only the Victor because you allowed it…because you have something to gain from it?"

"Excellent deduction." As usual, Finnick couldn't tell if Snow was mocking him or if he honestly was surprised at how quickly Finnick grasped what Snow was saying. "You see, some people don't understand that, that I have the ultimate say in whoever wins. Some of them spend millions of dollars trying to give their favorite Tribute a victory. Some are foolish and stubborn enough to use illegal means, such as bribery, to tip the odds in their Tribute's favor. They are foolish because they make the mistake that I do not know everything that happens in the Capitol." Finnick's heart tightened as Snow gave him a knowing look. "I was surprised that you made a visit to Ms. Halspeth after you were so adamant to spend the Games looking after your Tribute."

Shit. Finnick kept his face impassive. "It got to be very stressful and suffocating in the Watching Room. I needed to take a break." Hit by a sudden burst of bravery, he cocked his head questioningly. "If I recall, our original deal stated that I must sleep with clients you select. Nowhere did it say I couldn't sleep with people of my choosing in my spare time."

"Indeed, indeed." Snow nodded. "I simply wasn't aware the Crusis Lascius was your type."

He knew. Fuck, he knew. There was no use pretending. So Finnick found himself replying sarcastically, "Well, something about creeps who get off murdering little boys really turns me on."

"Are you referring to the Tributes or the boy who died in an unfortunate incident last year?"

"Both." Finnick fidgeted with one of the tassels on the chair's arm. "So you know, huh? Are you going to arrest me?"

"If I were going to arrest you, we would not be having this conversation." Snow leaned back, taking in his nervous state. "So you can relax. The public still craves your attention and I can assure you that you personally will not be harmed whilst that is the case."

"Me personally?"

"Well, I can't offer assurances as to your loved ones." Finnick's mouth became a hard line before Snow continued. "But this time, since it worked out for everyone, I will grant you a full pardon."

Something seemed off. "And Lascius?" Snow didn't respond right away, so Finnick pressed on. "Will he be punished?"

Snow surprised him by laughing. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? No, Lascius is the perfect candidate to keep on as a Gamemaker. He is sadistic and manipulative enough to entertain the Capitol, however thanks to the secrets I hold over his head he is completely under my control."

Finnick quickly hid his disappointment. So Lascius wouldn't be behind bars any time soon. He'd have to make a point of avoiding the Gamemaker at all costs, which would be difficult on Annie's Victory Tour. "Is that why you're not upset? Because I gave you another secret to hold over his head?" No, that didn't quite fit. Finnick was missing something, something important.

"You don't realize it yet, do you dear boy?" The affectionate nickname caused a full shiver to travel from Finnick's neck to his toes. "I had no need for any additional secrets of Lascius's. He was already completely under my control when you went to him. If I truly wanted to, I could have stopped you. But I did not."

It clicked. "Because you needed something to hold over my head." Finnick whispered.

"Yes. But not in the way you imagine." Snow leaned across the desk, all traces of pleasantries gone. "You've been slipping out of my fingers for quite some time. When your mother and brother died, I imagined that you would form bonds with other people. You were young, popular and charming. However, you disappointed me and only sought the company of your mentor. You clearly love her, so that was enough for the time being. But I started to wonder: what if she was to die naturally? She is quite old, after all, older than I. And what if you tested your boundaries again and I were forced to eliminate her? You would have no incentive. I would lose control over you, and I'm not quite ready for that to happen."

Finnick recalled how Snow had denied his request initially. Then, after his divulgence about what would happen if he lost Mags, Snow had changed his mind. "So you're saying you won't kill her because you know you'll lose control of me if you do?" The thought was so liberating it was almost unbearable.

"Not at all." Snow tapped his fingers against the mahogany desk. "I'm saying that when you burst into my home the night before the Games, I saw a change in you. For the first time in years you cared about something. You were desperate. And I knew I had to preserve that feeling in you. So I let you play your games, wondering how far you would go and you didn't disappoint. You willingly traded sex for sponsorship money. You bent the rules and cheated the system to send a completely impractical, sentimental gift. You humiliated and degraded yourself, putting yourself in a perilous position so that you could illegally blackmail a dangerous man into rigging the Games. You cared so much about this girl that you compromised your entire being, just to bring back a mad, fragment of the person she once was. And that is why I allowed her to come out of the Arena. That is how she will be useful to me. She is important to _you_. And now I will not have to worry about losing control over you for as long as I need you."

The liberating feeling was gone, crushed by overwhelming suffocation. The only relief he'd ever known was the idea that someday soon, this would all end. Snow would have nothing to hold over him anymore and he would either be left in peace or he would kill himself. Now he saw nothing but darkness. Annie was young. She was damaged, but she was healthy enough to stay around for a long time. And so long as she lived, Snow could make Finnick do whatever he wanted.

"You're mistaken." Finnick found himself whispering. "I don't care about her. I just wanted a Tribute to come home for once."

Snow laughed once more. "Let us pretend I believe you. Then you wouldn't mind if she followed you in your line of work?"

This was a trick, Finnick knew it was – Annie was lovely, he could see that objectively, but she wasn't nearly popular enough to garner the kind of demand Snow could actually make money off of – but he found his hackles raising anyway. "I wouldn't mind, but her clients would. She could claw their eyes out. She's too crazy to be controlled."

"Oh, I'm sure with a little treatment she'll have her head right in six months." Snow's voice was oily. "She's not the first Tribute we've pulled out of the Arena kicking and screaming. Our doctors know what they're doing. They have the right medicines for it."

Finnick knew he was talking about Morphling. He suddenly wondered if the addicts from Six had become addicted by choice or if the Capitol had forced it on them. "I think sea water and fresh air would be better for her." He told Snow carefully. "And being around her family. Speaking as her Mentor, you're more likely to have a Victor sane enough to go out in public and give speeches during her Victory Tour if you send her home."

Snow stared at him for a while, a knowing smile on his lips. "Very well." He finally told Finnick. "You'll leave in a few days. There are some clients who were very disappointed by the wait. I'm sure you'll make it up to them adequately."

Finnick had planned on staying near Annie's room until he was allowed in. He swallowed a lump in his throat and said instead, "Of course."

* * *

"Finnick, Annie had another nightmare." Dora looked irritated and out of breath. Her hair was slightly askew on her head and it was obvious she'd tried to wake Annie up. Her room was closest to Annie's so every time the terrified Victor started screaming in her sleep, Dora was the first to know.

"Okay, I'll go calm her down." Finnick appeased her and Dora left the compartment he and Mags had been sitting in. Neither of them had been able to sleep – Finnick because Annie kept waking Dora up and he kept having to placate her, and Mags for some unknown reason.

Finnick stood up from his chair and noticed Mags giving him a strange grin. "What?"

She shrugged innocently. "Nothing. I just think it's sweet how you're the only one who can calm her down."

He pushed down a tidal wave of frustration. His anger was at Snow, not Mags and it wasn't fair to displace that on her. "It's not sweet. There's nothing sweet about this situation. I worked so hard to get her out of that Arena and what do I get for my trouble? A screaming Tribute who can't go to sleep unless I hold her hand. Great. Excellent." His words were false and bitter. They were Capitol Finnick's words.

Mags frowned. "What's the matter with you? You've been on edge ever since you left the hospital and you've been avoiding Annie, when that girl needs you more than anyone."

Finnick rubbed his face tiredly. It was true. When Annie had finally been allowed to stay in the Training Center, she was only anywhere remotely calm in his presence. The first night there he'd stumbled back in from a client only to hear her shrieks ringing through the apartment, while Mags and Nora desperately tried to calm her. Nora had been asking an Avox for some kind of tranquilizer when Finnick entered the room. All it took was a few kind words and his holding her hand for her to calm down and fall back asleep. "Why does she need me so badly? It's not like we were close before she went into that Arena. We hardly even talked before the last day."

"You took care of her in the Arena, Finnick." Mags explained like he was an idiot. "She may not have seen you in the Watching Room, panicking about everything, like I did, but she knows you're the one who set up the Career alliance and made sure Triston protected her. She saw how many gifts you sent her. She knows _you _sent her that book. When her entire world fell apart, you were the only person she could count on."

Fuck, what a mess. "That's dangerous." Finnick whispered. "It's dangerous for her to be dependent on me, Mags, you know…" He trailed off. He was living in the five percent of uncertainty. Right. "She can't depend on me. I can't be there for her. Mags, can you go in there and try to calm her down?" He pleaded with her. "I can't put her in a position where I'm the only one she trusts."

Mags looked at him pityingly. "I think it's too late for that, Finn." She winced as Annie's wails reached their compartment. "She's suffering and she needs help. Go help her, I know you want to, no matter how much you pretend otherwise."

She always could read him better than anyone else. Normally he wasn't certain whether that was a blessing or a curse. Today he was certain it was the latter.

As soon as Finnick pushed the door open the wailing stopped. Annie looked like she was drowning in the massive Capitol bed, her sheets in a tangled mess beside her. She was breathing frantically, her hands clapped over her ears, but at least she'd stopped screaming. Her eyes were darting around frantically, cloudy and unfocused. When he made his way over to her and gently removed her right hand from her ear, her eyes snapped to his so quickly and precisely he could almost see her sanity clicking back into place.

Her other hand fell away from her head as she clutched his hand tightly. She breathed in deeply, her left hand resting on the mattress and then digging her fingers into it. "Is this real?" She demanded hoarsely, eyes never leaving his.

Finnick frowned. When he'd first become a Victor sometimes he would cling to the desperate hope that maybe everything had been a dream. "Unfortunately yes." His thumb was doing something strange: it was rubbing the back of her hand gently of its own accord. "I'm so sorry Annie. I wish none of this had ever happened to you."

She surprised him by shaking her head adamantly. "No, it's good that it's real." He must have looked confused because she explained unevenly: "The other world…in my head, I think...I _think _it's in my head. It's not a good world. Bad things happen there. Bad things happened here too, but they're over now. So I'd rather this world be real." She peered at him desperately. "It _is _real, right? You're not lying to me?"

_I would never lie to you. _The impulse to say those words was surprisingly strong and Finnick worked hard to push it down. He could never promise something like that to her. It would be a lie in itself. "I promise you, this is real." He said instead. "You survived and we're on our way home right now."

"Ok." Annie whispered, her hand feebly pulling on the sheets and covers, trying to wrap them around her. She was shaking too badly and the cloth kept falling out from her fingers. Finnick released her hand and, ignoring her startled yelp of protest at the lack of contact, took the blankets from her gently, throwing the comforter off to the side. He then straightened out the sheet and tucked it in on three sides of the bed before doing the same with the comforter, making the bed around Annie. After he was done he sat down on the edge of the bed and took the hand she extended gratefully to him. "Thank you."

"No problem." He said, like he tucked girls into bed every day. No wonder Mags thought it was sweet. Finnick could see beyond the surface though, to the clawing unhealthy blackness beneath. She was looking at him with what could only be described as blind _trust_. She was a Victor, she had to know that trusting someone else was the most dangerous thing you could do. But she was also a broken girl desperately in need of help.

As he waged an internal war with himself, Annie's hand squeezed his softly. "Finnick?" She asked softly, sounding much closer to seven than seventeen. He looked and saw that she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Yes, Annie?" His voice was so gentle he almost didn't recognize it. Why was he doing this, why was he encouraging her to rely on him?

"Will you stay with me?" Her face was flushed pink. "It's just, I…I go to sleep and you're holding my hand and I remember finishing my book and Odysseus returning to Penelope and I can maybe dream about that for a while but then I'm _there_ and nobody's watching me and nobody's protecting me and nobody cares about me and there's nothing to hold on to, nothing to make me feel safe and I wake up and you're not there and so I stay _there_ because _there _nobody cares about me and I just thought…" She took a deep breath, clearly distressed from the toll that rant had taken on her, "I thought that maybe if you stayed here I would know that you were looking out for me like you did in there. When I was there…I forgot for a bit and I was gone but you made me remember and I…" She shook her head, going redder. "Forget it. It's stupid."

Annie tried to pull her hand away. Finnick didn't let her. "No, it's not." He heard himself saying. "I can stay, if you think it'll help with the nightmares. It's worth a try, right?"

She gave him a tentative smile. "I'm just being stupid." She whispered, closing her eyes again. "It probably won't help."

It did. Annie slept soundly for the rest of the night.

* * *

When they arrived back in District Four, Finnick quickly slipped into the shadows. There were no cameras following them this time – the Capitol already had their fill of the mad girl and would not be interested again until her Victory Tour – so it was easy for him to go around the small crowd the opposite direction of where the Crestas were waiting. He thought he saw a woman who had to be Mrs. Cresta trying to wave him over, but he pushed it down. Annie had her family now and they could look out for her. He would act as her mentor for the Victory Tour and ignore her otherwise. Eventually Snow would figure out that they weren't close and would no longer even associate Annie with him. It was a stupid plan, but it was the only plan Finnick had so he was sticking with it.

Well, he _stuck _with it until someone banged on his door at two in the morning a few weeks later. Finnick woke instantly and grabbed the knife he kept under his bed before sneaking downstairs, fully alert. The knocking was too frantic and weak to be Peacekeepers, and the voice was a woman, though not one he recognized. "Mr. Odair? Please, Mr. Odair I need your help!" He looked through the peephole and saw it was Mrs. Cresta.

He hid the knife in the potted plant Mags had given him and yanked open the door. "Mrs. Cresta? What's going on?"

Mrs. Cresta was dressed in a nightgown and bathrobe with no shoes. Her hair was wild and free from the bun he usually saw it gathered in when she passed by his house. Most concerning, she had scratched on his face. "Annie's in hysterics!" She gasped. "She's screaming and throwing things! I'm afraid she's going to hurt herself! Please, you have to –" Finnick didn't wait for her to finish before he bolted out the door, not bothering to lock it behind him. The gravel of the Victors' road stung his feet. He'd never been to the Crestas' new home but he knew exactly where it was: four doors down from his and across the street.

"Did she scratch you?" Finnick asked her and Mrs. Cresta nodded. This worried him. During her time in the Training Center and on the train, Annie had never been that violent. She had pushed Mags and Dora aside after she woke up from a nightmare but never with much strength or ferocity. When she drifted off while awake – they could tell because she would drop out of the conversation for a bit and her eyes would fix on nothing and stay there – she was almost docile.

"This isn't the first time she's woken up screaming, but I'm usually able to calm her down." Mrs. Cresta told him frantically. "This time, it was like she didn't even see me. Like she was in another world entirely."

The front door was left open still and they both dashed up the stairs. The screaming was different from her terrified screams Finnick had heard after her Games. It was the cry he'd heard only one other time: when Triston was beheaded and she tried to claw Tiberius's eyes out.

A girl around his age and a boy a little younger than Annie were in the room with her, trying to keep her away from some of the more harmful objects in the room – such as lamps – while Annie raged and threw the wrought-iron clock on her bedside table against the wall. As Finnick entered she tried to pick up the table itself but she was too weak from her poor health and he could see her arms shaking.

"Annie!" He tried calling to her softly. "Annie, it's Finnick. I need you to calm down, all right?"

She just screamed louder, drowning out his words. He tried to yell above her voice, but that just made her more irate. Frustrated, he moved toward her despite the cries of warning from the other three people in the room. Annie pulled her fist back and swung at him. He caught it easily and gripped her wrist gently. She rammed her elbow into his chin, trying to twist her wrist out of his grasp. He just gabbed her other one and held her firmly while she snarled and struggled and literally _spat _at him.

"Hey, hey, there's no need for that." He was close enough that she could hear him now, even through her own deafening shrieks. "It's me, remember? I took care of you. You're not there. That's not real. _This _is real. You got out. You escaped, Annie. You finished your book. I sent it to you." She stopped wailing, the wild look in her eyes receding. She was coming back slowly. "Do you remember how it ended?" Annie nodded. "Can you tell me?"

"He came back." She whispered, her throat sounding like it was absolutely torn to shreds. "Odysseus made it back to Penelope."

"That's right." Finnick nodded. He could see the boy who had to be Annie's brother, as well as Mrs. Cresta, relaxing with relief. He turned to the brother – Drew, he remembered now – "And did you ever find out what your brother made on his history test?"

"He failed." There was a hint of a laugh in her voice now. "Because he completely blanked on why District 10 was designated the livestock District and made up some ridiculous story about how Panem used to have a dowry system and all the brides with cows ended up marrying into District 10."

Finnick shot an amused look to Drew, who shrugged. "Hey, it's no more made-up than the rest of the crap they teach us."

"Drew, hush." Mrs. Cresta chastised him. She looked around fearfully and Finnick wondered if she assumed what he did: that they were moved to the Victors' Village not because of the Capitol's generosity, but so that they could be watched.

Annie was relaxing and her eyes widened as she took in the state of the room. "I did this?" She questioned, looking from the overturned furniture to the scratches on her mother's face.

Finnick moved his hands from grabbing her wrists to cupping her hands gently. "You didn't mean it, Annie." He soothed.

"I'm alright." Mrs. Cresta reassured her daughter, whose eyes couldn't seem to move away from the scratch marks. "I'm just worried about you."

Annie's shoulders started shaking. "I'm sorry!" She cried. "I'm sorry Annie didn't come back like she promised! I'm sorry this did instead."

Somebody behind Finnick let out a choked sob. He didn't turn around to see who it was. "You're still _Annie_." He scolded her. "You're just hurt, but you're still the same girl. You're still impossibly sweet and brave, and your family still loves you the same. They've been here for you, haven't they?"

She finally looked at him. There was betrayal and hurt in her eyes and she yanked her hands away from him, as if she hadn't realized who was holding them all this time. "_You _haven't been." Her voice warbled. "You said you'd stay and look out for me and you _didn't. _You broke your promise."

Finnick decided not to argue with her and remind her that his promise – as far as he'd known – had only been about staying one night. She was too fragile to handle even the slightest hint of confrontation. "I'm sorry, I figured you would want to be with your family. I didn't want to intrude."

"I _needed _you." Annie pleaded. "I still need you. Don't leave me. You're supposed to protect me, like you did there."

There was something very heavy clogging up his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Promise me you won't leave me again."

He didn't want to lie to her: not now, not ever. But he couldn't deny her request. Finnick inwardly struggled with himself. He didn't want any more leverage. Snow already assumed she was important to him. He hurt everyone close to him. Annie was already damaged far worse than anything he could ever do.

And it was nice to be the one doing the taking care of for once.

"I promise."

* * *

Finnick had forgotten what a family was like: siblings fighting and then laughing together the next moment, a responsible adult to take your worries onto her own shoulders, knowing there would always be someone waiting for you when you came home. The Crestas were not a replacement for his family, nor were they even a surrogate family to him. They_ were _the first true family he'd interacted with since his mother and brother were killed, and he had the sense that if he'd let them they would have accepted him into their fold.

Mrs. Cresta seemed constantly torn between respecting his privacy and turning into a full-fledged mother hen on him. Her fingers would twitch toward his shirt when he spilled something on it, like she wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean. She eyed his growing hair and asked politely, "Your hair's getting a bit long, do you like it that way?"and it was clear she was fighting the urge to force him into a chair and cut it herself. When he returned Annie home from one of their evening walks – every day they would walk a little closer to the ocean, as Annie was trying to get over her aquaphobia and he, guiltily, was trying to help her – she blurted out nervously, "Oh, would you like to stay for dinner?" And he replied, "No thank you, I've got plans with Mags" before proceeding to invite himself over to dinner at Mags's house. Thankfully Mags did not question him.

Annie's sister Felicia was far easier to keep at bay. Finnick was honestly surprised. He was correct about his assumption that she was his age: she was only a year older than him and he sort of recalled her from school before Training. He had little memory of her aside from that so he assumed she must have gone to regular school like Annie. She was right in the age group of girls that startled giggling every time they saw him after the Games. Felicia was quite a bit more flighty than Annie and spent time with various different boys from town. Frankly he would have pegged her for a fan-girl. In the beginning when she seemed more aloof than her family Finnick attributed it to the oddness of their situation and perhaps a touch of shyness. Two months into knowing the Crestas, he had to admit his initial judgment was wrong. Felicia disapproved of him, it was as plain as that. She was an avid follower of Capitol gossip, as avid as any person not _in _the Capitol could be, so she knew more about his Capitol lifestyle than the other Crestas. Finnick wasn't worried about it. Despite Felicia's suspicions, he had no intention of pursuing any sort of relationship with Annie, long-term _or _short-term. So he did not need to win the approval of her sister.

One person whose approval Finnick definitely did not need to worry about was Drew's. Annie's fifteen year-old brother had been just the right age to be excited, not scared, by Finnick's Games. Annie told him that Drew had begged their mom for a month to be put into the Training program so that he could be a Victor too. Finnick wondered how many other little boys had followed down his path because of his victory. Fortunately Drew had grown far less gung-ho about the idea of Volunteering as he got older. He still worshiped Finnick though. Because of Annie's sensitivity to any talk of violence he never asked Finnick questions about his Games or fighting skills, but he was particularly thrilled to discover that Finnick grew up learning the fisherman's trade. "I keep wanting to go down to the docks looking for work, but Mom won't let me. Says I need to focus on school." Drew told Finnick as he and Annie were about to leave on their walk. "So I'm stuck teaching myself during weekends on Dad's old boat until I graduate." And Finnick, who had found fishing alone to be the most terrible thing in the world without Myron, found himself agreeing to take him out on _Sirena _sometime. It was a casual, noncommittal offer, but Drew grinned like that was the best thing to ever happen to him.

"He's completely in love with you." Annie teased as they left the house. This time they planned on walking three-quarters of the way between where the beach turned into sand dunes and the water. "Be careful, he may be expecting a proposal soon."

Finnick chuckled, partly at the joke and partly due to sheer happiness at Annie feeling well enough to joke. "Ah, it's unfortunate he's not my type then."

It took him a few steps to realize Annie had stopped. He turned to see her peering at him thoughtfully. "He's not?"

His heart dropped at the sheer confusion on her face. Maybe she wasn't doing as well as he'd thought. "No, of course not Annie." He explained patiently. "He's a _boy_."

"But I thought…" She shook her head and blushed slightly. "I thought it didn't matter to you. Boy or girl. Your lovers in the Capitol…"

This time his heart didn't drop. It nearly _stopped_. He'd just seriously fucked up. He was supposed to be bisexual or pansexual or whatever the hell it was called. Finnick Odair, lover of all. Finnick Odair wasn't supposed to have a 'type.' He mentally scrambled for an explanation, wondering if he could tell her that things were different in the Capitol than they were here, that he was just a different person…no, no, that would be revealing too much. "I just meant that he's too young." Finnick covered quickly. "He's a boy, a kid, y'know? I would never think of him like that. He's kind of like…" _a brother_. "He's just too young. It would be wrong."

There was something strange in Annie's expression as she peered at him. "Okay." She said slowly. "I was just checking…you're different here than you are in the Capitol."

He hid his anxiety behind a grin. "Different because I am a dashing knight in shining armor who rescues you from your nightmares and takes you on romantic strolls in the moonlight."

"It's not even sunset!"

"Romantic strolls at not even sunset?"

Annie laughed. "No, I mean you don't flirt like you do in the Capitol."

"I was _just _flirting with you." Finnick pointed out, trying desperately to steer her off track.

She waved him off. "But you were joking too…you only flirt when you're joking here and I like it. It's funny, it makes me laugh." That was why Finnick did it. "You're not joking in the Capitol. You're serious."

"Oh, I joke plenty in the Capitol."

Annie was starting to get frustrated with his contrariness. "Not when you flirt. You flirt _seriously _in the Capitol. Like you're…like you want…"

Somehow watching her struggle to get the words out was endearing enough to push down Finnick's worry. "Like I'm what?" He demanded, smile stretching across his face. His mother had called his, "Cheshire Cat grin" and when he asked what it meant she said, _"I don't know, it's just an old expression."_

"You know what I'm saying!" Annie stomped her foot in frustration. She was so adorable when she got flustered like this.

"I do know, but I want to hear you say it." Finnick told her in a sing-song voice. "Come on Annie. Like I want what?"

She hit him on the shoulder. This surprised Finnick because she rarely ever sought physical contact playfully, only for comfort. "Like you want to get into their pants." She mumbled, face turning redder than Finnick had ever seen it.

Finnick clutched his chest in shock and awe. "Is that an _innuendo_? Ladies and Gentleman," He boomed, mimicking Caesar, "Annie Cresta has just made an _innuendo_!" He gestured extravagantly to the sky above. "I do believe the sky is falling, the world _must _be coming to an end, for none of us ever believed that this joyous day would ever come–"

"You're terrible!" Annie shouted, but he could hear the laughter mixed with the embarrassment in her voice. "Absolutely terrible."

If she'd been a little less fragile and he a little less wary, he'd probably have grabbed her and tickled her then, and – if she hadn't been absolutely terrified of the ocean – thrown her into the water. But she was fragile and he was wary so he just knocked against her side lightly and shoved his hands into his back pockets, content that he'd redirected their conversation.

* * *

There were good days and there were bad days. On bad days walks on the beach would upset Annie too much. The first time she ended up having a breakdown in the middle of the sand and Finnick had to carry her home. Every day after that he would be sure to ask her if she felt okay to go and every day she said yes even if she did not feel okay, because she was too proud and too hard on herself. He would watch for the warning signs, like her not responding to his incessant chatter for several minutes, or chewing on the ends of her hair, and would suggest they turn back, or veer away from the water for a bit.

They chose the beach for their walks mainly because at the right time and the right place it was fairly private, and Annie was not comfortable around strangers. Even when they stuck to the less populated parts of town he could tell she was not enjoying herself. So Finnick was particularly proud of himself when he found a nice, pretty path in the woods that hardly anyone knew about. At that point he could tell from the moment of entering the Cresta household if Annie couldn't handle the beach that day. Without saying anything he would lead them off toward the woods and she would follow gratefully. That is, until she randomly threw a screaming fit and crumpled to the ground. Once again, Finnick had to carry her home.

"Triston…" She said as he put her into her bed and Finnick patted her face sadly.

"No, Annie, it's Finnick." Her eyes were vacant and dull.

"I know." Annie whispered and Finnick felt relief that she was at least that coherent. "Triston's there, in the woods. It's _his _woods. He's there. Except his head's still on and he's with Katri and they're pretending to be in _there _and why would anyone do that why would they pretend to be _there_ it's such a horrible place but they don't know that except they do because then they're actually _there _and his head's no longer there but he's still talking and telling me things but that doesn't make any sense…"

And thus ended the walks in the woods.

Finnick sighed as he made his way down the stairs. He examined his hand, the one Annie had clutched tightly as soon as she had her fit all the way up until she drifted off to sleep and Finnick left her bedside. The spots where her nails had dug in were marked by angry red crescents. Was one of them bleeding? He stopped on the third-to-bottom step, peering at it closely. It hadn't even hurt at the time; he'd been so focused on Annie's distress.

"What are you doing?" Finnick looked up to see his least favorite Cresta standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded tightly across her abdomen. Her hair was wild and he could see a purpling bruise on her neck. No questions as to what _she'd _been doing.

Finnick walked down the last few steps, keeping his tread quiet to avoid startling Annie. "Going home. I just put Annie to bed. She had a bad day, so she might have a nightmare. You should phone me if it's bad." He added unnecessarily. Three months into this, they all knew the drill. It had gotten to the point where Felicia and Drew could calm Annie down from most normal panic attacks, and Mrs. Cresta could even intervene with some of her destructive ones. Finnick was still the only one able to reach her when she was at her worst and every once in a while he'd receive a phone call in the middle of the night that he never bothered to pick up – he just sprinted down the street. It was all very routine.

Felicia's mouth set into a hard line. "You just love playing the rescuer, don't you?"

Were they really going to do this right now? "Yes, I decided to bring your sister home instead of leaving her to claw her own eyes out because I have a hero complex. Not because, you know, I genuinely care about her or anything."

"Oh I think you care about her." Felicia walked toward him accusingly. "I just think you're a piece of shit." Finnick had to stop himself from physically flinching. He was Finnick Odair, he had faced much worse things than a spoiled – emotionally, not materially – District Four girl's words. That didn't stop them from stinging. "One that I wish never went anywhere near my baby sister."

There were many hurtful things Finnick could have said to Felicia about how at least he was actually doing something to help her precious 'baby sister,' while she was off fooling around with guys. Instead he said wearily, "Look, you can drop the protective older sister act. I think by now you should realize I'm not going to do anything to hurt Annie. I'm trying to help her get better. And I'm pretty sure your mother told you what I did to get her out of that Arena." He was talking about the book, of course. The Crestas would never find out how far he really went to bring her home.

"Yeah, she did." For some reason, this made Felicia look angrier. "I think you've put a whole lot of effort into making her completely dependent on you. And that would be fine, if you were a decent guy. But you're not. You're Finnick Odair. You've slept with at least twenty-three of the Capitol's elite."

Finnick's stomach twisted. That didn't sound like an exaggeration or a hyperbole. That sounded like an actual fact that was calculated and figured out and printed in a magazine. He never bothered to keep track of his patrons. There were repeat customers, secret customers, public customers…it was definitely more than twenty-three and twenty-three sounded like a lot.

Felicia wasn't done twisting her knife into his guts. "Men, women, old, young, fat, pretty…it doesn't matter to you. Some of my friends think you do it for the money but I've known you long enough to see that you have plenty of wealth. No, I think you do it for the thrill. To see what you can get away with. I remember you. You were one of those Career kids, those bullies who always dared each other to break the rules because you thought you were above it all. You were a cocky, arrogant kid and then you fought in the Games and they turned you into a conceited son-of-a-bitch. All of which would be fine, if you weren't so important to my sweet, damaged little sister. She's got enough shit to deal with. She doesn't need yours too."

Finally Finnick found his voice. "I'm not giving her any of my shit."

"Really? And what happens when you go back to the Capitol like you always do and do what you always do and Annie's left here heartbroken?" Finnick blinked at her in surprise. "You can't lie to me and tell me you'll be faithful. I know what you are. You're nothing more than a whore."

_Better a whore than a slut. _There was nothing he wanted to say to Felicia more right now. That would be far too revealing, of course. Finnick forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. When he got home he could do some weapons practice and pretend the target was Felicia's face. "You're operating under the mistaken assumption that Annie and I are anything but platonic." He informed her dispassionately. "We're just friends, nothing more. She know it's not anything more than that, I've been pretty clear." And Annie would never fall for Finnick. Not Capitol Finnick, not District Four Finnick, and definitely not the angry, bitter, vindictive, murderous, cowardly, terrified, and broken Real Finnick that he kept cradled inside, constantly shielded by the two masks he constantly switched around. She was pure goodness and there was no goodness left in Finnick. "There is nothing going on between Annie and I and there never will be."

Felicia's eyes narrowed. "I hope so, for your sake." She warned. "Otherwise there'll be hell to pay."

She had no idea how true her words were.

* * *

A/N: Don't hate Felicia. She's just judgey...like Katniss was initially. It would be like if you had a damaged, mentally unstable little sister and the biggest 'player' in the country suddenly decided to become your little sister's favorite and most important person...you'd be worried too, right? Mrs. Cresta is a bit more intuitive (and she and Finnick had that bonding moment) while Drew is a fan and in serious need of some sort of older male figure to look up to. Felicia is sorting out her daddy issues in her own way. By no way do I mean to slut-shame her! Those are just Finnick's thoughts, since he sees sex in a really screwed up way. We'll explore that much more deeply next chapter in very excruciating ways.

You guys have been so wonderful in your reviews! For those of you who like 'Best Friends' I've decided to do the Jo-Finnick introduction and friendship thing slightly differently in this one (mostly because I read an interview where Suzanne confirmed that Jo was indeed prostituted by the Capitol, so those of us who've been stamping our feet and insisting that Jo would've never stood for it and that's why all of her loved ones are dead were wrong so we should hang our heads in shame. I still think they died because she eventually caused too much trouble or maybe she just refused after doing it for a bit. Regardless, I don't think it happened for very long because they don't make it as big of a deal in the books as they do with Finnick). So consider Best Friends to NOT be cannon with regards to this fic.

I was also wondering what you guys thought about a debate that seems to be going around (I'm a little late joining in, but oh well). There are many fans who are insistent that Finnick was only ever prostituted to women and that the fanon that's developed about Finnick's patrons being of both sexes is just the fandom gone awry. Some claim it is because we (the both-sex prostitution side) don't think prostitution to women is actually that bad. Personally, I think ANY kind of prostitution is bad and no matter how many guys I know make a joke about being raped by women, if it came down to it I think they'd feel pretty damn violated. The reason I have my views about the debate is two reasons. 1) Suzanne Collins NEVER says women. She's always very careful about her wording. It's "lovers" and "people" and "patrons." Never women (Finnick's thoughts when he was recalling Snow's demands of him were a reflection of my own when I got to the part about the prostitution and thought, 'Wait a second, she's being awfully careful about his wording, was it always this vague?" and yes. Yes it was. 2) Snow is already forcing Finnick into this. Finnick really has no say about any of it. So why the hell not sell him to guys if they're interested? The thing is too, that many people don't understand is that rape is not about sex. It is about control. That's why it is still horribly traumatizing if a female rapes a male. She is taking his control completely away from him. That's why most rapists are male, whether they are raping women or men (this happens WAY more than people think), because men tend to associate sex with control more than women do and they also crave that physical control more than women. That's also why every single one of these encounters for Finnick is rape. It's not "essentially rape." It's rape. At the hands of the women and men who use him, but also ultimately by Snow.

So what do you think? Is Finnick being sold to both sexes as good as cannon to you, or do you think it's an excuse for Fanfiction writers to explore something that honestly finds its way into many a bad fanfic?


	6. Part Six

A/N: SUPER SHORT CHAPTER. It's only 4K words. But I had to get to work and a lot happens in this chapter. It's short but intense. When I go back and edit this, I may put it with the previous chapter. It fits more with that than the next one I have planned.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Um...remember Part Four? Remember how awful that was? Yeah, I think this one may be worse.

* * *

Part Six

* * *

Finnick was called away to the Capitol twice between Annie's Victory and her Victory Tour. The first time, he managed to put Annie – and her struggles, and her dependency on him, and how was she functioning without their daily walks? – out of his mind for the two weeks he was there. He had to work to do, duties to take care of. Finnick performed his tasks robotically, feeling more cheap and fake than ever. After allowing himself to be human for four months, to interact genuinely with real people, it was harder to become soulless again.

These days he never used the train for Capitol business unless his visit there was a major publicity stunt. Instead he hitched a ride with a Peacekeeper's hovercraft, which meant there was usually no one to greet him upon his arrival home. Finnick would be at peace to slink back to his house and sit in his bathtub for hours. One time he literally stayed curled up in the tub for over a day before Mags even realized he was back and her eyes were so sad when she pulled him out, scolding him for being reckless. They hadn't talked about it, she'd just wrapped him up in a blanket and made a fire in the hearth, telling him he needed to take better care of himself. He'd stared into the flickering flames dully, wondering how she'd react if he told her he'd spent the entire time contemplating ducking his head beneath the surface of the water and drowning himself.

This time, Annie was there. When Finnick stepped off of the hovercraft along with the Peacekeepers, he nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her. She was curled up against the wall of the hovercraft-dock control center, her arms folded over her legs to shield herself from the world. But her eyes were bright and focused when they found his and she smiled as she stood to greet him.

"Welcome back." She said nervously as he approached her. Finnick could see that her hair was tangled and greasy, the ends in a terrible state from all the fretful chewing she must have been doing. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent and he could see the scratch marks on her arms clearly. The anxiety that he'd blocked off while he was in the Capitol came flooding back. Right. Annie was a wreck without him. These past two weeks must have been hell for her.

One of the senior Peacekeepers was watching them suspiciously. Finnick cleared his throat in apprehension. "How, um, how did you know I was getting back today?"

"I didn't." Annie was stepping closer, far closer into his personal space bubble than he was frankly comfortable. Backing up or – worse – pushing her away would be terrible for her self confidence. "Every time I see a hovercraft I come here, hoping that it's you."

Finnick looked around, hoping that none of the Peacekeepers had heard that. "Well, I'm back now, so let's get you home." He turned away and began to lead her away. Her cold hand reached forward and grabbed his. Finnick stiffened, feeling the discerning Peacekeeper eyes noting this detail.

He yanked his hand away. "Come on, I'm tired." He said impatiently to Annie, not wanting to look and see the hurt in her eyes.

In the days leading up to her Victory Tour, Finnick tried to put a little more distance between them, attempting to wean her off of him. Somehow during his time in District Four he'd managed to forget why it was such a bad idea for her to count on him. The trip to the Capitol had reminded him how utterly unreliable he was. Annie was starting to get better: Finnick almost never received calls in the night anymore. He began visiting her less frequently. Mrs. Cresta was too polite to ask why, but he was certain she disapproved. Drew stopped requesting fishing lessons. Felicia scowled at him more frequently, though Finnick didn't fully understand _her _reaction – this was what she'd wanted, right? Annie was the only one to vocalize her disappointment, though she did it so feebly it was almost easy to brush off with an "I've just been busy, Annie. Sorry." Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Finnick told himself it was all for the best.

A week and a half before Annie's Tour, he got a call from the Capitol from one of his handlers.

"You're kidding, right?" He said bluntly, running a hand through his hair. "You want me to leave tomorrow?"

There was silence, then a clipped, "Yes."

"The Tour is in _twelve days_."

Silence again. "It's a short visit."

Indeed it was. Finnick was startled to discover that he only had one client, who had rented him for a private night and nothing more. His prep team was left with minimal instructions and his outfit was nothing more than slacks and a button-down. As usual, he was left with nothing more than an address. No name.

He hated how nervous he was when he rang the bell of the apartment, which was in a slightly run-down part of the Capitol. It was the kind that the 'poor' people of the Capitol lived in, or the wealthy rented short-term under secret aliases to conduct secret drug-trading or, well, meet with secret prostitutes. Finnick bounced on his feet impatiently. Normally he was given more _time _than this to acclimate to the Capitol and steel himself for what he had to do. It didn't help that he looked more like his District Four self than Capitol self at the moment. Finnick still wasn't a fan of the fancy clothes, but they helped him slip into his persona, like an actor donning a costume. He would have actually _worn _what he was wearing right now.

The door opened and Finnick's mouth went dry.

"Get inside." The man ordered him roughly, looking just as unhappy to see Finnick as Finnick was to see him.

Finnick did so. His mother had told him an old story once, about a boy who was forced to enter a lion's den as a punishment for some misdeed against a king. In that moment, Finnick knew how that boy felt. He _was _that boy.

The man shut the door quickly behind him, peering out to make sure no one had seen. Then he turned to scowl at Finnick. "Give me your arm."

Finnick did so, reluctantly. He didn't flinch when the man harshly jabbed a needle into it and injected him with something. "What is that?"

"A weakening drug. Brand new, most expensive on the market. They don't have an antidote for it yet." Crusis Lascius sneered at him.

Despite the fear that was growing in his chest, Finnick heard himself saying, "Oh good. You remember our last encounter and how badly that went for you. I assumed you must have forgotten, to willingly get me alone again."

Lascius was lucky he was a client. His punch was strong, but slow and obvious. Finnick's instincts were to grab his wrist, twist it and break his arm. He did not. He let the punch land squarely on his cheek and cause him to stumble back. "Oh, I haven't forgotten." He snarled. "You should _wish _that I'd forgotten. How you tricked me, put my engagement in jeopardy-"

"How _is _your fiancée?" Finnick asked, rubbing his cheek. "Did you get married yet or are you here because she realized what a creep you are and left you with nothing?"

"Oh, we got married." Lascius informed him. "And it hasn't made hiding things any easier. Making sure she was out of town and finding a way to purchase you without her noticing the money missing was _not _an easy task."

He sounded genuinely irritated: like it was Finnick's fault he'd had to go through the trouble. "Why bother?" Finnick was growing increasingly frightened, but also increasingly curious. "I mean, I assume you brought me here to take your revenge, but it can't be worth the risk. You can't kill me. You can't even hurt me that badly without Snow coming after you."

Lascius surprised him by punching him again, this time in the gut. "You think I _wanted this_?" He screamed at Finnick, who was doubled over. "Do you have any idea how much fucking money it cost to have you flied out here specifically, rent this apartment and pay your whore's price? A hell of a lot more than I would ever spend on something petty like revenge! But it's not like I had much of a choice." His voice was bitter. "Presidential orders."

"Wait, Snow forced you to buy me?" Finnick was honestly bewildered. That made no sense. If this was a form of punishment for both of them, he would have had expected it to happen earlier. And Snow had promised him that he'd been pardoned for his transgressions during Annie's Games.

"Well, I certainly didn't want to spend half of my newly-found fortune on this." Lascius's voice was bitter. "You weren't even a good fuck."

Finnick ignored that last comment. "Fine, since we've both established we'd rather be anywhere but here, let's just get this over with."

It was a gamble and it failed. Lascius's laughter sounded manic. "Oh no, I'm going to get what I paid for. I may not have willingly paid for this revenge, but I may as well enjoy it now that I have it." His voice dropped along with Finnick's stomach. "You have no idea how many nights I've spent fantasizing ripping your guts out with your own trident."

As it turned out, Lascius had many different revenge fantasies. Many of them involved physical pain. Finnick was a Victor, he'd survived the Games, and he certainly wasn't a stranger to sadomasochistic bed games. However none of that prepared him for hours of carefully deliberated and executed torture. By the time Lascius was finished there were burns, bruises, cuts and lash-marks all over his body. Finnick, who'd always been so stubborn about showing weakness in front of any Capitolite, could not keep the screams, sobs and tears inside him. Lascius was trying to break him, that was obvious. So he continued to be disappointed when Finnick would manage to pull himself together and control himself.

Eventually Lascius grew frustrated and tried to destroy him another way. He slammed repeatedly into Finnick, whispering sick things like he had when he first fucked him. Lascius noticed he got more of a disgusted response out of Finnick when he talked about Finnick's Games, so he pulled up a Replay of the 65th Games and forced Finnick to watch it while they fucked. Even when Finnick squeezed his eyes tightly he could hear the sounds of the Arena and that was almost worse because he felt like he was there again. At one point he started to drift out of consciousness but Lascius shoved something else in his arm, something that kept his mind active and alert while his body lay useless, more from the physical trauma at that point than from the earlier drug.

Once Lascius was done Finnick lay on the bed, curled up on his side, unable and unwilling to move. He wanted Lascius to actually stab him in the stomach with a trident, like he kept talking about. He wanted somebody to cut off his head, slit his artery. Why hadn't they killed him in the Games? Why did he have to make it out alive? Was he really that much worse than the rest of the Tributes in his Games, that he was the one who was punished? Why did they get off easy?

Despite his broken thoughts, Finnick still managed a glare for Lascius when the Gamemaker came into view. Lascius's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Finnick: abused, spent, wanting nothing more than to die but still defiant. Then his expression shifted. He moved behind Finnick and wrapped his hand around his decidedly limp penis, rubbing it. Finnick had absolutely no energy left to protest.

"I bet this feels good after that pain, huh?" Lascius whispered. "Probably better than anything else in your life. You want this."

Feebly, Finnick's mind tried to fight. No, no he didn't want this. His skin was crawling and what he really wanted was to push Lascius away, to get his hands off him, for nobody to ever touch him again. Then a jolt of pleasure went up his body and he wanted to cry. He'd forgotten what good things felt like. It was dirty and tinged with fear but wasn't everything in his life? Was there anything left in his life that was wholly good?

"You're probably wishing it wasn't me touching you, though." Lascius surprised Finnick with his musing. Of course he wished it wasn't Lascius. He wished that _anyone _but Lascius were touching him right now. "You probably wish it was that girl, right? _Annie_."

The revulsion that overcame him that moment was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. "No." He whispered, almost pleading. No, don't talk about her. She was good and whole. She did not belong here. She was the one thing that had nothing to do with any of this.

"But why wouldn't you?" Lascius crooned. "She may not be my type, but I can see that she's pretty. Don't you remember how pretty she is?" Finnick shook his head, desperately shaking away any pictures of Annie. She was smiling up at him during one of their walks on the beech, looking more happy and healthy than he'd ever seen her. That was one of the few times he'd ever realized she was actually beautiful. "You don't remember? Do you need a reminder?" Finnick shut his eyes instinctively, but it was no use. Her voice was now drifting through the room and the filth was contaminating it.

"…_because I'd like to learn how to walk in them properly. Do you know what else I'd like to learn?"_

Annie. Sweet, innocent Annie. She was clinging to his hand, desperately begging him not to leave after one of her nightmares. She was waiting for him after he returned home from the Capitol, like no one else ever had. He saw her eyes, looking at him unflinchingly, peering into his soul.

"Turn it off." He begged, gasping against the crushing pleasure Lascius's ministrations were causing him. "Please, turn it off."

"Not until you look." Lascius ordered him.

Finnick closed his eyes more firmly. _"...what it's like to wake up everyday next to the same person, see his eyelashes flutter open and just say, 'Hi.'" _So innocent. So pure. His thoughts of her were mixing with the cravings originating from deep in his gut. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting on the stage. Her eyes were looking firmly at the camera, unwavering. The dress was the sea-green of her eyes. Her hair was luxurious and probably soft to the touch, falling in waves down her back. She was beautiful. So beautiful.

Finnick came.

He started to scream immediately afterward, angry and horrified at what he'd just done. He screamed himself until he was hoarse and then when he finally went silent, shivering and completely traumatized, Lascius leaned down and whispered in his ear:

"Like I said, she's not my type. But I can see the appeal. Who know, maybe if Snow ever puts her up for sale I'll buy her. She has your eyes. I'll just pretend that it's you."

* * *

This time it took Mags two days to figure out something was wrong. On the third day after his arrival home she banged on the door as loudly as she could. When he didn't respond she let herself in and found him buried under the covers, staring a hole into the wall.

"Finnick, when was the last time you ate?"

The last time he ate? That would have been before his appointment with Lascius. The last time he'd received sustenance was at the hospital he'd been shuttled off to the morning after. They kept shoving a feeding tube down his throat and his stomach kept pushing it all back up. He had no idea if any of it had stayed down. "I don't know."

"When was the last time you drank?"

They _had _injected him successfully with fluids. Finnick didn't know how long it had been since then. "I don't know."

She brought him water and he sipped it carefully out of a straw. The soup she fed him by hand was difficult to keep down, but he forced himself to somehow.

"When is the Tour?" He finally asked her once he indicated to her that he couldn't stomach anything else, sinking back into the comforting solace of his mattress.

"Eight days. That should give you enough time to recover."

Finnick tried to laugh. It came out as more like a pathetic whimper. "Of course." That had probably been calculated precisely. Enough time for him to recover physically, but just close enough that he'd be a complete emotional wreck for the Tour. For what purpose, Finnick still wasn't sure. "Wouldn't want anything to get in the way of a good show."

Mags eyed him carefully. "Something's different…" She said worriedly. "Something's different about you. What did they do to you?"

They were skirting dangerously close to the truth. "Nothing worse than usual," He lied. "I'll be fine."

"Finnick-"

"Seriously Mags, don't worry about me."

She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. Finnick thought she was probably the only person in the world who he could stand to have touch him right now. "Silly boy, you should know by now that's impossible."

* * *

He didn't see any of the Crestas until the day of the Tour. By then the wounds that the Capitol hospital had stitched up and speed-healed had faded into scars that he knew his prep team would make quick work of. Physically, there was almost no sign that anything was different.

Mags was right though. Finnick was different, only partly due to the fact that he was now more skittish and triggered than ever. The thought of seeing Lascius again once the Tour reached the Capitol had kept him up until he went down to the docks and purchased a trident, holding one in his hands for the first time since his Games. He went down to the area in his basement that he'd set up as a target-practice for throwing knives when he got frustrated, envisioned the dummy as Lascius, and threw the trident. It went straight into the dummy's chest. That made him feel slightly better and more relaxed, so he did it again. And again. And again.

Mainly Finnick was different because he now felt more disgusted with himself than ever before. He outright avoided Annie, knowing that he couldn't see her. She would try to touch him; even worse, she would look at him with those eyes. The ones that he'd…she shouldn't see him. He was revolting, a despicable creature.

He was just like _them_. Except somehow he was even lowlier, even filthier than the Capitolites. They used him and played with him and destroyed every piece of his soul and he hated them, yet somehow they'd managed to turn him. The only scrap of sanity he'd clung to this entire time was the knowledge that he was somehow better than them. Now they'd taken that as well.

He couldn't see Annie but he had to. He was her mentor. She needed him to survive this Tour. So the night before he had to see her, he took everything thought he'd ever had about her that was somehow, even distantly, related to anything physical and shoved in a box within his mind. Every random observation, every memory of any time he'd touched her, every thought that even slightly resembled objectification. The way that her nails had dug into his palm, that one time he'd reached to push her hair out of her mouth and the back of his hand had brushed against her lips. Even the knowledge that she was in any way pretty. Annie was not pretty. He did not think of her that way and never would.

This was easier when he did not look at her. He stood behind her during her speeches and guided her through parties, but he never looked in her eyes. She would constantly seek his attention out, trying to meet his eyes before he averted his own quickly. It had to be this way. It just had to.

By the time they got to Two, Finnick was both exhausted from his efforts of evading Annie and relieved that they'd made it this far. Rather than dispirited, Annie seemed almost _challenged _by his neglect and with every District her voice was louder. She'd had no nightmares on the Tour so far. Finnick had never heard of a Tribute actually doing better on their Victory Tour than at home, but Annie was defying all expectations.

He thought that was a good thing until he ended up standing awkwardly next to Brutus during the party. "And here I thought she was too off-her-rocker to be seen in public." The irritable District Two mentor sneered. "I'd heard rumors that the President was just going to leave her to rot in Four after the Tour, but maybe he'll find some use for her after all."

Finnick's skin prickled. He had the inkling there was more to what Brutus was saying than what was on the surface. "What do you mean?"

Brutus smirked. It was in that moment that he realized Brutus knew. Finnick didn't know how, but he did. "I mean you'll finally have some company in the Capitol. Not as popular as _you_, of course–"

Brutus was still laughing when Finnick pushed past him, desperate to be anywhere but there. Fuck. Snow wouldn't. He wouldn't. When he'd threatened it, that had just been a ploy to get Finnick to reveal himself. But Lascius had mentioned something and so had Brutus…And Annie was – not pretty. She was not pretty. Not to Finnick. Other people seemed to think she was, though. Snow hadn't done anything because she was mad. If he thought she wasn't mad, if Annie showed up at the Capitol as put-together as she had been tonight…

"Finnick!" Her voice caught his ear and he turned to her. She was wearing – he didn't care what she was wearing. It didn't matter. He wasn't looking at her. "Finnick, you look upset, what's the matter? Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Of course he wasn't. They were in District Two, which meant they were only a few days away from the Capitol, which meant they were only a few days away from seeing Lascius and him having to fuck people who could flay him alive if they wanted to and nobody would give a shit. There would be people who would possess him and turn him and twist his thoughts and somehow even though it didn't seem possible they would make him even more repulsive and foul than he already was. She didn't know this of course. Because they believed she was crazy and that protected her. If they thought she was even remotely close to being publicly acceptable…she could know the things he knew.

"Of course not." He heard himself hissing at her. "There's nothing enjoyable about any of this. And you would know that if you weren't mad."

Mad.

Mad, mad, mad.

He could almost hear he word echoing around in her head. Not once had he ever said such a thing to her. She wasn't crazy. Finnick, Finnick was crazy. He and all the other Victors who kept some semblance of themselves after the Games. Annie was the only sane one among them. She was just hurt. She was damaged. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't mad. He'd refused to let herself think that, and look where it had gotten her. Fixed enough to the point where she could _pretend_ to be okay on her Victory Tour.

Her fragile barriers crashed down and she started screaming. Her fingers dug at her hair, pulling on it. All the other guests at the party backed off, frightened of the mad girl. That night and the next they had no choice but to tranquilize her, knock her out so that she would sleep. Halfway through her interview with Caesar, she stopped talking and went utterly silent. She had to be taken away from the Victory Party ten minutes in. District Four left the Capitol in complete disgrace that year. What a shame, they said. What a pathetic Victor.

Finnick was glad.

* * *

A/N: I feel horrible, but it had to be done. This is the WORST it is going to get, I promise.


	7. Part Seven

A/N: So I think I'll leave this up as Chapter 7 for the first couple of days and then combine it with chapter 6. They do go better together and they're both a little short.

Warnings: Some pretty gritty sexual stuff in the beginning. Minor (OC) character death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Part Seven

* * *

Finnick was the one to cause Annie's meltdown at the Victory Party. She was already a mess when her prep team shoved her into a glittery white ball-gown and spent the limousine ride curled up in her seat. Their entrance was different from Finnick's had been: instead of adoring fans reaching out to cup her face and pet her hair, they stayed several feet back with smirks on their faces, whispering to one another like spectators at a zoo.

Or a freak show.

They were close enough to still terrify Annie and she cast her gaze downward, focusing on the ornate patterns of the marble floor. Finnick was just coming to terms with the notion that he was going to spend the party telling Annie where to step because she refused to look up, when he met dark eyes across the room.

His skin got very hot and very cold at the same time, constricting around his throat and making the muscles in his legs go numb. The barely invisible scars on his back prickled with familiarity, sensing that their creator was near. Lascius's lips curled into a smile. Finnick looked around quickly for the nearest Vomitorium, his breath coming out in short gasps (fortunately the only one near enough to hear was Annie). He couldn't do this. Not without his trident, not without a weapon to sink into Lascius's chest. He was just about to leave Annie's side when he saw Lascius flick his eyes between Annie and Finnick, smile growing.

"_Even I can see that she's pretty."_

Finnick's grip on his drink tightened. He looked away from Lascius, only to catch eyes with a woman who was eyeing him hungrily.

_His knees were digging into the carpet and his hands kept trying to bunch into fists. He forced them to caress the hips and thighs of the woman he was kneeling in front of instead, while he ate her out. She tasted like thick Capitol perfume and he wondered if she'd sprayed some _in there_. He shuddered at the image, because he was only seventeen and had not been exposed to the more revolting and disgusting fetishes of the Capitol._

She was a former client. Finnick had so many at this point, he was used to running into them everywhere. Maybe it was the skin Lascius had shaved off his back but he felt more raw and exposed to them now and the memories they brought with them. Or maybe it was the innocent girl beside him, in her virgin-white dress, who was too pure for their greedy gazes.

Finnick saw a few more clients looking their way. His memories started to shift, rearrange themselves.

_Annie cried out as Lascius shoved her against a desk, bruising her delicate skin with his cruel hands. Annie was kneeling on the carpet, horror on her face as the woman bared herself to the girl expectantly. Annie's fingers trembled as she struggled to unbuckle the man's belt before her. Annie struggled against the ropes holding her back while a woman dripped burning chocolate on her stomach. Annie backed away in horror as a couple approached her with 'toys' in their hands that had to be classified as instruments of torture, squealing, "Let's play a game!"_

Though he needed the Vomitorium now more than ever, he couldn't leave Annie here alone with these people. Their eyes were focused on himbut every once in a while they would move to consider Annie with seemingly innocent glances. There was nothing innocent about these people, any of these people. The Capitol was a dirty rotting cesspool of sex, something that should not touch her. People were coming closer now, less timid than before when they entered. They saw the difference between this frail, porcelain thing staring at the floor and the wild banshee who'd dug her thumbs into Tiberius's eyes. This delicate thing was not a threat to them. She was accessible. They could touch her.

Finnick's eyes caught something in the distance. He swallowed, unable to believe what he was about to do but forcing himself into it before he could consider the moral repercussions. "Annie, look over there." He whispered.

She looked up trustingly and followed his gaze until she saw what he was staring at: the magnificent pool in the middle of Snow's garden, water streaming down in intricate patterns. On account of her lowered head she hadn't seen it until now. It was close enough that they could jump in.

Finnick moved his hand to her back as if to guide her toward the pool and Annie screamed. She thrashed and tried to escape his grasp. He held her tighter, knowing that would cause her to fight harder. The party guests watched in horror as Annie scratched Finnick's face, neck and arms in her efforts to break away and run. Her eyes were vacant and crazed, just as they had been in the Arena.

The Peacekeepers injected her with a sedative and escorted them out.

* * *

Once they arrived back home there was no question of Finnick seeing any of the Crestas. He'd completely betrayed Annie's trust in him, on every level, and he had no doubt she'd informed her mother and siblings in some way. That was good. Finnick was finished with Annie. His mentorship was done, he would stay away and she would remain in District Four, hidden from Capitol eyes like all shameful Victors. It was best for everyone.

Mags refused to be convinced of this. Finnick had heard that when Victors grew older, they became more resigned. Not Mags. She was more fiery and passionate than she had been when they first met. "That girl needs you," She told Finnick one morning when she foisted breakfast upon him. "If you abandon her, you let the Capitol win."

Finnick frowned around the muffin she'd used to gain entrance into his house. Mags didn't get it: if he'd stuck by Annie's side, the Capitol would have won. Or at least, Snow would have. "It's better this way. She's better off alone with her family, so she can forget."

He heard Mags snort as he turned away. "Forget? Boy, it's been nearly sixty years since my Games and I still see them in my sleep. None of us can ever forget."

This was the first admission of weakness he'd ever heard Mags make. "Only because they still drag you out to the Capitol." Finnick told her. "They'll never make Annie be a Mentor. Hell, she could probably get away with not watching the Games ever again and simply plead insanity."

"She is _not _insane." Mags told him fiercely. "You and I both know that. But without proper guidance and care she could be headed that way."

"Her family loves her. They'll help her."

"That's not enough. She needs somebody who understands her and she can trust completely." She looked pointedly at Finnick.

He refused to squirm under her gaze. He was not seven anymore. "Well, that sure as hell isn't me right now."

"Yes, you made sure of that, didn't you?" Mags told him shrewdly. "I don't know what you think you're protecting her from – maybe you decided somewhere along the line she would be better off insane – but I can assure you that you're wrong. That girl told you that she wanted to _live_: not spend the rest of her days locked up in her room because she was afraid of her own shadow. She won't even look at water now. Her mother has to bathe her with washcloths she wets in a separate room." Before the Victory Tour, Annie had gotten to the point where she was willing to at least shower. It hurt Finnick to hear all their hard work had gone literally down the drain. It was even worse knowing that it was completely his fault. "I've lived a long time Finnick. I know many things. And I know for certain that if you don't make things right with Annie you will regret it for the rest of your life." Mags sounded truly upset now. "She deserves to have you in her life."

Before he could stop himself, Finnick heard the words, "God no, she deserves so much better than _that_," come out of his mouth. From the look on Mags's face, he knew he'd given himself away, so the rest just tumbled out. "I'm too fucked up. Annie…she's better off without me. I'd do her more harm than good." Something wet was forming in Mags's eyes so he looked away. "She's better off with just her family." Finnick repeated. "They can be there for her."

Mags reached out and cupped his hand. "Finnick, Abigail is dying."

It took him a moment to register what that meant. "Abigail...you mean Mrs. Cresta?" Mags nodded. "What – how – what do you mean, dying?" There was no question of why. If Mrs. Cresta was dying, it was Finnick's fault. His heart thumped loudly in his chest.

"She has an incurable disease called Lupus. She's been battling it for years now and has been deteriorating in the last few months. Right now she is bedridden and the doctor's predict that she will pass in a few weeks."

"The past few months…" Finnick repeated in horror. He thought of the little he'd seen Mrs. Cresta in that time. Had she seemed ill? Thinner, perhaps, but he'd thought it was the additional stress of taking care of Annie. Fuck, she'd been Annie's main caretaker while she'd been dying. Or had she been doing well until he'd placed that additional stress on her fragile shoulders?

Mags seemed to read his mind. "Finnick, no. This was nothing that you caused. This was outside of you."

How could she know that? How could she know that the Capitol hadn't slipped something in her food, something that caused her to worsen? "Mags, I rigged the Games." He finally admitted, practically mouthing the words, his whisper was so quiet. "Snow promised he wouldn't…he said I'd had a full pardon but then something happened and I think it was a punishment for what I did. Who's to say – that this, this wasn't–"

"Even if it was, you are not responsible for all the evil in the world." Mags said firmly, before sighing. "But I honestly believe this is a natural tragedy. Such things still _do _happen, believe it or not."

"It's hard to believe it." Finnick whispered. "Every time something happens I think, 'Oh no, how did I mess up this time?' Because I mess up _a lot_. And people get hurt and they die and…and that can't happen to Annie. It just can't."

Mags cupped his face. Her eyes were sad. "Is that what this is really about? There's nothing you can do to convince Snow you don't care about Annie. It's too late for that. Even if you never saw her again, he would still remember what you did for her. No matter what you do, he will use her against you. Just as he uses me."

The world seemed to stop in that moment. In the distance Finnick could hear the wind whistling against the cliffs and the waves crashing on the shore, but nothing existed except for him and Mags, sitting in the kitchen as they discussed the darkest secrets of their worlds. "You knew?" He questioned her. "But I…I didn't think–"

"As I said, I have lived a very long life." Mags sighed. "The majority of that life has been as a Victor. The Capitol never hurt me in the ways that they've hurt you, but I am very familiar with the concept of doing what they tell you in order to save your loved ones' lives. And no matter how many they kill or pass on naturally, they always seem to find more people that are important to you. Because we are human and we are conditioned to love. After your family died, I suspected Snow was using me to control you when I asked you why you continued to smile for the cameras and play their games. You lied to me and told me you were afraid they would kill you. It was then I knew."

"I was afraid to tell you…you were the only person I had left in the entire world." Finnick rubbed his temples tiredly. "I was afraid if I told you, that you'd–"

"That I'd what?" Finnick didn't respond. He just looked out the window. Suddenly, Mags let out a short bark of laughter. "You thought I would kill myself? After all these years of surviving?" She sounded so genuinely surprised that Finnick couldn't help feeling oddly hurt. It must have shown on his face, for Mags amended, "I would give my life for you in a heartbeat, Finn. You are my family. But I know I can do far more good alive than dead. If I killed myself, who would have looked after you? Who would have loved you as I do?"

Finnick looked away. "That was sort of the idea. If you died then I'd be free to follow you."

Mags clenched his hand then, almost as tightly as Annie did when he was acting as her lifeline. "Don't you say that, Finnick Odair." She commanded. "Let me tell you something. You are not the only Victor to feel that way. In fact, I would imagine most Victors have had those thoughts, sometimes lasting for years in length. But do you know how many Victors have killed themselves over the years?"

"No."

"One. She was strung out of on Morphling when she jumped off a bridge. Whether or not it was actually suicide or if she believed she could fly is still in question." Finnick blinked in surprise. "Do you know why that number is not higher? Because we Victors are _survivors_. We won our Games because we wanted to live more than anyone else in the Arena. We refused to let the Capitol have our lives. When President Snow came into power, I think he saw how dangerous that actually was. He realized how easily Victors could be transformed into a symbol of rebellion. So he began to place more control over Victors and bound them tighter to the Capitol. It wasn't enough to bathe them in riches and hope they'd serve as an example of the generosity of the Capitol. They had to _endorse _the Capitol, sing its praises. That is when it became common practice to threaten Victors to keep them in line, for the more rebellious ones. Snow's need for control and the Capitol's greed have become wrapped up together and have begun to spiral out of hand." Her eyes bore into Finnick's. "This slavery they've forced you into…I'm not sure if it is a symptom of extreme complacency or paranoia. Either way, things are about to reach a boiling point. The practice of selling Victors is a few decades old, but I and the other Victors have never seen anyone exploited to the extremes that you have."

There were a thousand questions swimming in Finnick's head. Was it slavery, what he was forced into doing? Was Mags suggested Snow was actually _afraid _of them? He wasn't the only Victor threatened into sex? She talked about his sex life freely with other Victors? What did she mean by boiling point? "What does that all mean?"

"That things will not be like this forever." Mags said bluntly. "And you should not live life as if they will. I don't know what Snow said to you about Annie or what things he's put into your mind, but trust me when I say that if you make yourself miserable and alone, he wins. If you let her fall into madness, he wins. And like I said, she deserves better than that. You both do."

* * *

Mags's words were not enough to calm to tumultuous upheaval of confusion in Finnick's mind, but they were enough for him to find himself dressed in a formal black suit, staring at black dress shoes on the day of Abigail Cresta's funeral. It was to be a small affair, like his family's had been, and Finnick had not received an invitation.

"She wants you there," Mags had slipped to him. "She keeps asking for you, but Felicia did not want you to come so that's why you haven't heard anything. Go to the funeral. Don't let this be a regret, lad."

He pulled on the dress shoes. It was the beginning of March which for District Four meant the rainy season was almost finished and it was just starting to be beautiful again. The sky was clear and there was a nice cool breeze that kept Finnick from overheating in his suit. As she was dying, Abigail had requested a land-burial rather than a sea-burial, knowing Annie would not be able to cope with even standing on a dock. It reminded Finnick of his family's memorial service. He tried to convince himself that was where the similarities ended.

When he arrived at the burial ground Finnick almost turned back. Fortunately Mags appeared beside him and said, "Be a gentleman and escort an old lady, would you? These old bones aren't what they used to be." So he had Mags at his side when he arrived. Predictably, Felicia glared when she caught sight of him. Drew looked awkwardly away, still unsure what to make of his childhood hero. Their reaction was unimportant, however.

Annie gasped when she saw him and knocked Felicia's grasp from her arm. "You're here!" She exclaimed, running up to him and almost tripping on her heels. They were shorter than the ones she'd worn at her pre-Games interview. Finnick pushed down any associated memories with that interview and focused on the Annie in front of him. She was too thin, too pale and it was clear that it had taken all of Felicia's effort to make her look somewhat presentable. "I didn't think you'd come. It's almost about to start."

"I know. I'm sorry." He struggled to find words. Mags took this opportunity to slip away, her old bones suddenly working just fine. "It…took some courage to come here." She was looking at him with those intense, questioning eyes and he was meeting them for the first time in months. "I'm sorry I'm late. I should have been here sooner."

"No!" She said a little too loudly, causing several heads to turn. Annie didn't notice, as had become usual when she did things outside the social norm. "I'm glad you came at all. I didn't think you cared about me anymore. Because I'm mad." She stated matter-a-factly.

Finnick's chest tightened, seeing firsthand the effects his words had on her. "No, no, you're not. I'm sorry I said that…I didn't mean it, Annie. I was just trying to…" He looked around, well aware that they were not in the best location to discuss this. "I shouldn't have said that. It's not true, I definitely don't believe it's true and I didn't when I said it." She looked confused, which was only to be expected: Finnick didn't think even the sanest person would understand the gibberish that had just come out of his mouth. "I care about you." He finally stated. "I do, a lot, I just–"

Annie cut him off by hugging him tightly, just as she had before her Games. She was so small and cold that Finnick found himself rubbing circles on her back, trying to warm her up. "Thank you." She whispered.

* * *

Finnick was no longer welcome in the Cresta household. Felicia – who'd inherited the status of head of the family despite the house technically being Annie's – made that very clear. If she'd been disapproving of their friendship before, she was adamantly, violently against it now. In her eyes, Finnick had proven himself to be exactly the asshole she'd suspected him to be.

"I mean, she's right, isn't she?" Finnick asked Mags one day while he helped her weed her garden in preparation for planting season. "I did hurt Annie, just like she predicted."

Mags pushed her hair away from her face with a huff. Bending down to garden was getting harder for her these days, but Finnick didn't have the heart to ask her to give up her greatest passion. "Maybe, but not for the reasons she thinks."

Finnick thought back on his reasoning. "In all honesty, I can't tell you exactly why I did it. It's still a bit jumbled in my mind." And he still was not entirely convinced he was doing to right thing by going back to Annie.

"That may be the case. However, I'm certain that your driving desire was to protect her, not hurt her. You were just confused how to go about it. And," She added, reading his mind as always, "I think you are finally back on the right track."

Just because Finnick was not allowed back in the Cresta house did not mean he could not spend any time with Annie. Felicia was not home all the time and as two Victors with nothing better to do it became easy for Annie and Finnick to figure ways around her schedule. At first Finnick felt sort of bad for sneaking around with Annie because he knew how that looked, and he honestly thought Annie needed to learn to stand up to Felicia and simply tell her sister that she was an adult and could do what she pleased. But Annie actually enjoyed figuring out how to deceive Felicia and they made a game out of it. Finnick enjoyed both seeing Annie's rebellious streak and the ingenious ideas she came up with. For now, their game was working as a surprisingly effective therapy for Annie.

They continued their former therapy of beach-walks. It had been frustrating at first, because they had to start at the beginning and Finnick knew it was completely his fault, but a few weeks in they hit a sudden stride of progress. If they continued at their current pace, Finnick was certain Annie might be able to handle the tide washing over her feet before the Games.

Currently they were a safe enough distance away from the water that they didn't have to worry about any of it reaching them, even at high tide. They were playing a game Annie had invented where they asked each other silly questions (safe questions that had nothing to do with the Games). They had started with questions like, "Do you think fish get thirsty?" before progressing to "What is your favorite nursery rhyme?"

"Okay, Miss Annie Cresta," Finnick challenged her, "What is your most embarrassing moment?"

She blushed deeply, as he'd been hoping. "Oh no, that is an unfair question. Because that requires a story, not a quick response."

Finnick nodded his head down the beach. "Well, I'd say we've got a good thirty-minute walk home so we've got time for a story."

Annie crossed her arms and her face turned redder. "But I don't _want _to tell this story." She told him petulantly. "It's embarrassing!"

"Well yeah, that's sort of the point." Finnick teased her. When she continued to remain silent, he jumped in front of her and walked backwards, clapping his hands and chanting, "Story time! Story time! Story time! Story–"

"Finn, you are such a _child_." She said affectionately and he felt warmth at the nickname. Only Mags and his family had ever called him that before. "Okay, fine. Now stop walking backward before you trip and fall on your butt." He flipped around to be beside her again. "I was seven, and it was during recess. My best friend Hailey and I were sitting under the oak tree near the picnic tables." Finnick wondered who this 'Hailey' was and where she'd been since Annie's Games. "We were playing some sort of card game…I don't remember what it was." There was a blank expression on her face for a moment but she shook it off. "Anyway, this boy, Jon something, I don't remember his last name, came over. He asked us if he could play cards with us and I said no, it was only a two-person card game. So then he asked if he could play cards with just me and I got super mad because he was excluding Hailey and that wasn't fair. So I yelled at him and called him a bully and told him to go away. He got really upset and started crying. Then Hailey told me that Jon wasn't trying to be mean, he wanted to play with me alone because he _liked _me." She emphasized the word 'like' and Finnick sniggered.

"Gotta love elementary drama."

"Yes." Annie agreed primly, her face turning redder. "Anyway, I felt really bad and the next day at recess I apologized to Jon. Then, because I thought I was doing him a favor I leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips." Her face now looked like a strawberry. Finnick was struggling not to laugh. "I figured he would be pleased since he wasn't a very cute boy and I was being nice to him by kissing him. But he wiped it off and said, 'You're a terrible kisser. I don't think I like you anymore.' And then he ran off and we never spoke again."

Finnick burst out laughing now. "Oh, Annie, that's precious." He told her. "I can picture that so easily…He really said that? What kind of seven year old is a good kisser? How would he even _know_?"

"I'm not sure if he even knows now…" Annie said with a hesitant smile. "He grew up sort of pudgy–"

That just made Finnick laugh harder. "I bet that makes you feel good, secretly." He crowed at her. "I think that may just be the best first kiss story I've ever heard."

Annie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling and her face was less red now. "What about your first kiss?"

"Less entertaining than yours." Finnick told her absentmindedly, his head still in the zone of childhood memories and not thinking of anything else. "I was five and there was this girl in my class who had pretty blonde braids – I can't even remember her _first _name – and I came up out of nowhere and planted a big fat kiss on her cheek. I really don't remember much about her except for those braids and her running around screaming about cooties afterward."

Annie chuckled and shook her head. "That was plenty entertaining, but that doesn't count as a first kiss. It has to be on the lips."

Finnick's mind jolted out of childhood memories and he nearly tripped over thin air. "On the lips? Why does it have to be on the lips? Yours was just as innocent as mine – it's not like you told me the story of your first _real _kiss."

"Under the docks, with Percy Brintinger." Annie said, surprisingly without hesitating. Finnick raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh, don't give me that look. Yes, I know what normally happens under the docks, but it wasn't like that. I was fifteen, a bunch of us had been out swimming and we separated from the group for a bit. He told me he liked me and we kissed. We went out for a few weeks until we realized we didn't really like each other and became friends again. It was all very tame, very innocent." She looked at him expectantly. "Now what about you?"

Finnick's mouth was dry. He could make up something. He _should _make up something. There was no one around to report him or get him in trouble if he told her the truth, but he didn't want Annie to question anything about his carefully constructed façade. She already saw him too clearly for him to be comfortable. Besides, she was having a remarkably good day. If anyone were to overhear their conversation, they would think her a perfectly normal young woman. It would be cruel to say anything distressing to her and especially to bring up the Games…

"Finnick?" Annie was frowning back at him and he realized he'd stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed. The time to make up a whimsical story had passed. "I don't want to upset you." He told her honestly. "You've been having such a good day."

Annie took his hands, the way that he had taken hers so many times when she was distraught. "If something's troubling you, I want to know. You're always here for me when I need you. Let me be here for you. I'll be okay."

She was so fragile. He was an idiot to believe her, to trust her, but… "I've, um, never told anyone this before." The words came tumbling out. "My first kiss happened the night before I went _there_." He carefully avoided saying 'Arena' or 'Games', knowing Annie probably couldn't handle that. She still stiffened and he watched her closely. She nodded, indicating he should go on. "It was my District Partner, Yvonne. She came into my room and–"

"Wait." Annie interrupted. Her hand went to her hair but she brought it back down forcefully, focusing her concentration on Finnick. "I thought…in your interview, didn't you um, you said you were experienced. I think I remember that." Now she was blushing again.

"Yeah, that was a lie." Finnick didn't want to go further into that. He couldn't. "I wanted sponsors and I…I lied. I didn't know anything. Honest to god, the most I'd done up until that point was kissing the girl with the braids on the cheek. But Yvonne…" He swallowed. It was ridiculous that after everything he'd been through, this still bothered him. "She believed it like everyone else. The whole time she'd been ignoring me because I was so young… 'Shark bait,' she called me." He remembered. "She didn't think I stood a chance, didn't think I was worth allying with." If he'd been paying more attention he would have been careful about using words that would trigger Annie. If he'd been paying more attention he would have noticed how resolutely Annie was refusing to let the triggers make her drift, how intent she was on being there for him. But he was caught up in his memories.

"When she came in that night, I was so scared and nervous for the next day I thought she was going to kill me. She said something about wanting a little bit of company on our last night and how she'd thought I was a little kid before but now she knew I wasn't…because I'd lied and said I was experienced, which she didn't know." He laughed hollowly. "Then she…she kissed me and she stuck her tongue down my throat and I remember thinking that it wasn't how I expected a kiss to feel at all because I couldn't breathe and it could have been pleasant if she wasn't so aggressive and I'm pretty sure she bit my lip but I didn't notice until afterward because my lip was bleeding. Then her hands kind of moved toward my neck and I worried she might have been distracting me so that she could throttle me…which made me remember that she would actually try to murder me. So I threw her off because she would want to kill me. She didn't love me or even like me or even tolerate me. There was a very high chance she would try to kill me twelve hours from then. And that was…not how I wanted my first kiss to go." He finished lamely.

Annie was staring at him and Finnick, who had come back to reality now, suddenly worried that he'd sent her off into some kind of mental tailspin. He felt like slapping himself. It had been _such _a good day and he'd gone and fucked it up. With a story that wasn't even a big deal. Okay, great, his first kiss had been with someone who'd wanted to kill him. Big fucking deal. He'd just recently spent hours getting fucked by a man who explicitly told him during all the ways he'd kill Finnick if he were ever given the permission. Yvonne honestly shouldn't still bother him. It was stupid and now he'd gone and upset Annie when he could have just made something up and –

She reached forward and hugged him. Finnick was shocked at the physical contact and it jarred with all the thoughts he'd just been having. "I'm so sorry, Finn." She whispered, her palms pressing against his back the way that his mothers' had when he first came home from his Games. Unthinking, Finnick buried his face in her hair. It was so soft and comforting. "You deserved better than that."

Finnick closed his eyes and let her stroke his hair, thinking for the first time in years, that maybe he did deserve better after all.

* * *

A/N: Things are finally moving! And I know where I'm going to finish this story. Originally I was going to make this a series of little vignettes (which is the way Part One was done) about Finnick's life but it has turned into more of a plot-centered story with a rise and a fall and a villain that I honestly did not see coming.

Finnick is not anywhere close to healed. He is only beginning and some things will get worse as he comes to terms with the reality of his situation. If I could go back and change some things, I probably would not have had Finnick classify what was happening to him as rape so early on. Maybe I will change that. It seems more realistic that he personally would not identify it as such until someone else pointed that fact out to him, and it would help explain the confusion he feels about his situation.

I felt like it was important to return to Yvonne. In many ways that was just as traumatic to him as everything Snow made him do. I always pictured Finnick as a sweetheart and a romantic at heart. Yvonne was the first person to mess up how he feels about love and sex so it was important to return to the root of that. And the unspoken trauma there was also in the fact that he killed her several days later...seriously, can you imagine? If I were Finnick I'd go with the girl in the braids story too!


	8. Part Eight

A/N: I always publish new chapters at times when no one is online. Oh well.

This chapter is a transitional sort of chapter. I intended for more to happen in this chapter but then it took up so much space. But it is important because it marks a shift in our story. You'll understand at the end.

The Honey Crisp: Yes, that was Finnick getting his memories confused with his thoughts about Annie. Each sentence was a different memory he associated with a different client he was seeing. That last sentence about the couple was because he saw a couple that had rented him. They were not all the same people, however. Each sentence was different. And of course, none of that ever happened to Annie. It all happened to Finnick and he was imagining them doing the same thing to him.

Warnings: Flashbacks to some pretty sick stuff.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

Part Eight

* * *

There was a terrible storm coming. It rattled at Finnick's window shutters and ravaged the leaves of Mags's apple tree. It was barely spring, far too early this sort of weather, but District Four's weather could be as fickle as the sea so everyone was prepared for the storm regardless. Their weather prediction technology (outdated twenty years by Capitol technology, but still suitable for their purposes) ensured that most, if not all, ships were forewarned far enough ahead of time that no one was out on the tumultuous waters. Finnick had spent most of the afternoon covering _Sirena_ with a tarp and tying her with several extra ropes. Strangely enough, some of the dockhands and fisherman working near him had nodded curtly at them as they passed and stared at him from where they worked. Not unfriendly or hungry stares, just…stares. A few of them enquired about Annie as they left and Finnick thought maybe him bringing her home had softened them toward him.

Annie hardly ever interacted with anyone outside of her family, Finnick and Mags, but public opinion of her seemed sympathetic. Unlike in the Capitol, no one stared at her or laughed behind their hands. People smiled at her sadly from a distance. During one of their walks, a little girl ran up shyly, stopping to a halt a few feet in front of them when she saw Annie go rigid. Timidly, the girl brought out a bouquet of lavender flowers.

"They're Hydrangeas." She explained as Annie accepted them carefully. "My mommy explained that they mean per-sever-ance. Because that's what you did. You per-severed."

The little girl stopped talking before she could go into detail about Annie's Games, much to Finnick's relief. Annie smelled the flowers and gave the little girl a smile. "Thank you." There was something about the way Annie thanked a person that made the giver truly believe in her gratitude.

"And they're pretty, just like you." The little girl blurted out, before running off.

Indeed, Annie's admirers were far different from Finnick's had been. That little girl would probably never volunteer for the Games. She would grow up thinking of Annie as a tragic heroine, a girl whose potential would never be fully reached, thanks to the Games. Thanks to the Capitol.

That was dangerous.

There was something dangerous about District Four after Annie's win. Finnick had noticed it as merely a discontent between his own Games and Annie's – they were frustrated that their best and brightest Tributes kept dying. They were starting to wonder what the point of training Careers was if the only winner they'd had in the past several years was a pretty boy with a trident. Apparently Finnick had not been the only one to lose his head when Triston _literally _lost his. Some fights between citizens and Peacekeepers had brought out that night. Not riots, but fights. And then they returned Annie, possibly the sweetest Tribute District Four ever had, traumatized and – according to the Capitol – out of her mind.

It was not a rebellion, not even close. But anger toward the Capitol was at an all-time high in District Four. Fewer children than ever were enrolling in Training. To make matters worse, the Capitol's quota for the catch had gone up – Finnick was unsure whether or not this was a coincidence or if it was a form of punishment for their defiance – and there were more people lining up for handouts at the soup kitchen than ever before. In response, more fishermen were fishing illegally, with underwater explosives and in restricted zones. Mags told him that in the first few decades following the Rebellion, the punishment for such acts was public execution. So far nothing worse had happened to any of those caught than fines and some jail time. From the angry way most fishermen carried themselves, Finnick was sure if anything more extreme were to happen, there _would _be riots.

Very little of this anger was directed at him personally. Seeing the way that the public responded to Annie after his Games, Finnick thought he understood their initial reaction to him. The Training program was initially developed as a way to keep their District Four pride. The Capitol wanted to take their children and force them to fight to death? They would show the Capitol that their children would not go down without a fight. Their lives were precious. Then Finnick came along and won for the stupidest, most Capitol reasons: his looks. Yes, he was dangerously talented and his skill with nets and tridents was pure District Four, so they were proud of that. But it was a begrudging pride, and it only grew more begrudging as he seemingly ate out of the Capitol's palm. Finnick was a mockery of all their ideals and they resented how other Districts came to only think of Fish and Finnick Odair when they thought of District Four.

Annie was slowly alleviating their hostility toward him. They saw some of the time and effort he put toward helping her and their whispers turned into remarks like _Finnick Odair is such a scoundrel normally, it's nice to see him doing something for somebody else _and _Maybe we've misunderstood the lad this whole time – what kind of Capitol-man would take care of an old lady and a mad girl? _

That was even more dangerous.

If people began to suspect Finnick was not in love with the Capitol as he claimed to be, they could cast doubts upon other parts of his manufactured identity. Sometimes Finnick wondered at night, heart pounding wildly at the thought, how his District would react if they knew the truth. Initially, he didn't think they would believe him. Hell, _he'd _hardly believed himself. Even if they had Finnick didn't know what they would have done about it. Nothing that could have saved him and the people he loved from the Capitol's wrath. Now though…he imagined telling someone and letting the rumor spread like wildfire. No one would believe it. No one but Snow, who would punish Finnick for his attempt. The truth would have to come straight from Finnick's mouth, for all to hear.

He would close his eyes and imagine himself saying in front of thousands of people _President Snow sells my body. He threatened to kill the people I loved if I didn't. He killed my mother and brother because I tried to refuse a patron. He will kill my mentor and probably my mentee if I don't continue. _He morbidly imagined how far he could get before he was shot. It would take Snow until _President Snow sells _to realize what Finnick planned to say. In the time that Snow gave the order to shoot him, Finnick could probably get out _President Snow sells my body. He threatened to kill the. _Then it would take a few seconds for a Peacekeeper to process the statement and pull their weapon up. At the point he would be at _President Snow sells my body. He threatened to kill the people I loved if I didn't. _A few more seconds for aiming and pulling the trigger. Finnick would probably be dead at _President Snow sells my body. He threatened to kill the people I loved if I didn't. He killed_.

The Capitol would claim he was high, drunk and crazy, procuring all kinds of toxicology reports to prove it. This wouldn't be convincing for some people, but for enough it would. Snow would find a way to punish Annie and Mags discreetly, long enough afterward that it would not be suspicious, but shortly enough to send a message to the other Victors. Finnick wondered if the other Victors would follow his example and speak up (for even if they weren't Capitol whores, they had to have stories of their own). Snow could only kill so many of them before it became obvious. And what would the Districts do?

Finnick didn't know about the other Districts, but he knew his reveal and subsequent death would certainly ignite a few of the embers burning underneath the angry fishermen. Many of them would piece together his story and rally behind Myron's memory. Paul had already been suspicious of the accident. He probably wasn't the only one. Most would direct their anger at Snow. A few would fixate on Finnick. It was _his _fault after all. Without any context it would seem like Finnick, after playing around in the Capitol, had gotten in over his head and gotten scared.

It was too bad he hadn't been braver at sixteen. He could have revealed the truth during one of his many interviews that year and his District would have been absolutely horrified. A sixteen year old child – an over-sexualized one, sure, but a child nonetheless – would have made for a far more sympathetic character than a twenty-year-old man who was generally known for fucking anything that moved and having the time of his life in the Capitol. And if he'd made the announcement so soon after his family's deaths, no one would have questioned his motives. He'd done what they asked, they'd killed his family anyway and then he gave absolutely no fucks about anything. He would have been the perfect martyr. Even if the Capitol managed to quell District Four into submission, they would have continued to rebel until they saw the Capitol burn themselves.

Did Finnick want the Capitol to burn?

He thought about Annie, Myron and his mother. He thought of all the Tributes he'd lost over the years. He thought about every woman or man who'd put their hands on or inside him.

Yes. Yes he did.

There was a terrible storm coming.

* * *

The night the actual storm hit, Finnick was finishing up his dinner when the phone rang. He eyed it suspiciously. Felicia never called him over when Annie was having a night terror, preferring to deal with it herself. He often saw her with scratches and bruises for her trouble. The last time that phone had rung he'd bolted down the street, only to run into the very firmly locked front door of the quiet Cresta house. It had still been ringing when he limped back, rubbing his nose while he answered the call from Snow's assistant, who informed him in clipped tones that the President's youngest daughter would be getting married shortly after the 71st Hunger Games (for the third time, though no one mentioned anything about that little detail) and he would be expected to not only make an appearance, but express his excitement for the happy couple during pre-Game interviews and festivities ("And their names are?" Finnick had enquired blearily).

With all likelihood this was going to be a summons to the Capitol. The Games weren't for a few more months and they were probably itching for presence again after he'd been whisked away so quickly thanks to his troublesome Victor. His heart heavy, Finnick picked up the phone.

"Hello." He said dully, not bothering with politeness.

There was silence, then a hesitant, "…Finnick? Is that you?"

"Annie?" His voice perked up a bit, though he was worried. "Is everything okay? Why are you calling?" It was storming pretty heavily outside, but he was only a few homes down from her.

"Everything's fine." She reassured him, though there definite panic in her voice. "I'm, um, Felicia's not home and Drew got stuck in town so I'm sort of alone for the night."

She sounded terrified. "Do you want me to come over?" Finnick asked.

"No!" Annie took a breath. "I mean, yes, I don't want to be alone but I don't want to be here. My mother's here." She informed him, as if that were a perfectly sane thing to say.

"Oh." Finnick turned around and attempted to locate his jacket with his eyes. "It's okay Annie, I'll be there in a second."

"No, I know she's not here, I'm fine really." Her voice sounded like it was teetering on the edge of hysterics. "I just…I was always scared of storms as a child and she was the one to take care of me. So the memories, they won't go away and they feel real but I know they're not real but I'm starting to get confused and I think it would be better if you could tell me what was real and not real." There was a very practical logic underneath her rambling and Finnick blinked when realized she was somewhat holding herself together to get through a crisis. That was a good sign. "So I was wondering if I could come over."

"Sure, of course. Do you want me to come get you?"

"It's four houses down, Finnick." Annie sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "I can handle it. I was just calling to make sure…I didn't want to impose."

"Impose?" He scoffed. "Are you kidding? You know you're welcome over any time."

There was silence on the other end. Finnick realized that no, she did not know this, because Annie had never been to his house before. This was mostly because he didn't want any of the old crotchety other Victors gossiping and Felicia thinking he was sneaking Annie into his house and having his way with her. But it was a storm: no one was going to notice. Besides, she was scared. To hell with what anybody thought. "Okay." Annie finally said. She sounded like she was steeling herself to go back into the Arena. "Okay, I'm coming over."

"Be careful." He said stupidly, mostly because his thoughts were on the Arena.

He was rewarded with the delightful sound of Annie's genuine laughter. "Be careful? It's four houses down." She repeated, this time more teasingly.

Finnick was obviously not going to tell her that a storm would be the perfect opportunity for Snow to eliminate her without any questions. "You're so tiny, I'm afraid the wind will just lift you up and blow you away." He teased back.

He could almost see her jutting out her jaw in determination. "We'll see how tiny I am when I get down there in less than fifteen seconds."

"Oh, you think I can beat my record, do you? Fine. Fifteen. Fourteen." There was the sound of running footsteps and a slamming door on the other line. Annie had left the phone off the hook.

He continued counting aloud. "Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven_._" Finnick tried not to think about how much like the pre-Games countdown this was beginning to sound like. "Six. Five. Four. Three. Two-"

Something slammed into his door and then wrenched it open. There was Annie: bedraggled, soaked to the bone, but sporting a full-out _grin_. "Did I make it?" She demanded Finnick breathlessly.

His own mouth curved into a smile as he approached her. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a new record of _thirteen seconds _for the mad dash between the Odair and Cresta house. I never thought I would live to see this day!" He chuckled as she shoved at him good-naturedly. "Come on, you're soaked. There's a fire in the living room." She pulled off her soggy sandals before following him, looking around his house curiously. He watched her roving eyes. "What do you think of Casa Odair? Probably not much, since it looks a hell of a lot like your house." He joked. All Victor houses were the same.

Annie turned around, looking intrigued. "It's different from what I was expecting." She said finally. "Given your personality."

"Were you expecting gold counter-tops, lamps and sculptures made from tridents, and pictures of me posing nude throughout the house?" Finnick questioned, mostly because he knew the last question would make her blush furiously. She did not disappoint him: her face turned a very delicate shade of pink. It was too pale from the cold to flush further.

"No." She replied loftily. "I was not. I was expecting it to be messy."

This made Finnick laugh harder than it probably should have. "Okay, I guess that's fair. Mags has a spare key and she gets bored easily so she–"

"Cleans up after you?" Annie asked him in astonishment, sinking to the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Would you let me finish?" He said, mock-irritated. "No, she comes into my house and starts screaming about how nobody can possibly live in such a smelly trash-heap and forces me to clean my house while she sits at my breakfast table and eats bagels." Annie released a short gasp of laughter, tried to contain herself, and then fell into uncontrollable giggles. He smiled. "After a few years of that treatment, I've pretty much learned to keep this place decent."

Annie continued laughing until her giggles subsided into shivers. He noticed the way her wet clothes were sticking uncomfortably to her skin. Training told him that she needed to get out of those clothes or she ran the risk of catching hypothermia. But if he suggested she take them off…yeah, that would sound really incredibly bad. He could offer her some of his clothes to change into, a t-shirt and a pair of pants with a drawstring waist she could tighten. Still, that was a strange offer. It felt a little too intimate, in an entirely different way than he was used to being intimate with anyone.

She needed to get out of those clothes, though. Survival instincts told him she needed to get out of those clothes. It was purely survival. No emotions. Forget about emotions. But if it was only about survival, why hadn't she stayed home where it was warm, safe and she had her own clothes? Because she needed him for emotional survival. Now the two were mixed up and Finnick was confused.

"Um, Finnick?" Annie asked him, teeth chattering. "Could I, um, borrow something to wear?" She looked embarrassed at asking and Finnick tried not to seem too relieved she'd released him of that duty.

"No problem. You'll freeze to death if you stay like that." He told her, casting her an '_are you an idiot?' _look as if it was obvious all along she was going to end up wearing his clothes. As if the thought didn't make his brain run around in circles, like an extremely hyperactive dog was chasing its own tail in there.

He ran upstairs and ransacked his clothes quickly, trying to find something as cozy as possible. His brain fixated firmly on comfort and not physical appearances. How Annie looked in his clothes was a non-factor. It did not matter. When he came downstairs he deposited them quickly in her arms and pointed her hastily toward the bathroom – which was located exactly where the bathroom in her house was located, obviously. He watched her go into the bathroom and waited for her for about two seconds before realizing he was standing outside his bathroom waiting for a girl to change into his clothes like some pervert. So then he all-but ran into the kitchen and tried to find something to occupy himself with. Something that would take long enough he wouldn't have to think about Annie changing into his clothes but short enough that she wouldn't be stuck waiting awkwardly alone in the living room in front of the warm fire.

Warm. Hot chocolate. He could make hot chocolate. It was a delicacy, impossible to find in most Districts and only available to the wealthiest of District Four. Coming from a poor family Finnick still felt improvident spending excessive money on anything, but he made a special exception for sweets. When they'd been on the train during the Victory Tour, Annie had taken a liking to hot chocolate. Hopefully giving her some now wouldn't make her think of his neglect. Or would that be better? Finnick still wasn't sure whether Annie would be better off with or without him. She seemed happier with him here. In the long run he was ruining her. She shouldn't be coming over to his house to seek comfort from him, that was stupid, that was bad, it was –

She walked around the corner and even though Finnick's brain tried to squash the thought as soon as it appeared he couldn't stop it: she looked absolutely adorable. The sweatshirt and pajama pants were baggy and long on her – she'd had to roll the sleeves of the sweatshirt up and she was tripping on the legs of the pants. He felt a sudden urge to snuggle her, like he had snuggled with Millie in his bed as a child. He suppressed that urge right along with his earlier thought.

"I made you some hot chocolate." Finnick said instead, not commenting on how he wanted to donate his entire wardrobe to her because she obviously looked so much better in his clothes than he did. "Did you want any marshmallows?"

"No thank you." Annie replied politely, probably drowning in the awkwardness that was her wearing his clothes. She was also probably wondering what sort of depraved things he had done in those clothes (nothing, since they were District Four clothes and he hadn't so much as touched himself since the lady with the black nails took that ability away from him. He'd been sure to burn the clothes he was wearing the first time Lascius fucked him). "I think the hot chocolate is sweet enough on its own, don't you?"

Finnick goggled at her as he handed her a mug of chocolaty-goodness. "There is _no _such thing as too sweet!" He protested, pouring a mountain of marshmallows into his own mug. "That's like saying something is too good, or too happy. It's just not possible."

"You don't think you can be too happy?" Annie questioned, leading the way back toward the fire. She looked considerably warmer, but she was still shivering slightly. "Haven't you ever heard the expression 'I'm so happy I could die'?"

"Well, sure. But it's an exaggeration. That type of happiness doesn't actually exist." Finnick plopped down onto the floor, his hot chocolate splashing onto the carpet a little. Annie settled down much more carefully.

"How can you be sure?" Annie questioned.

Finnick thought about this. He was certain that most people functioned at a much higher state of happiness than he did. They had to, because if everyone else were as fucking miserable as he was the entire country would be in rebellion by now. However, very few people outside of the Capitol seemed genuinely happy with their lives. Even the Capitol people weren't what he would consider _happy_. Because if they were genuinely happy, they wouldn't need to watch other people suffer for entertainment. "I think this world could use much more happiness." He concluded simply.

"Probably." Annie agreed, looking at the fire. They were a few feet apart, gawkily distant for close friends. During the rare times when it actually got cold in District Four and his mother would start a fire, Trish would come over to his house sometimes and they would sit in front of the fire. She'd rest her head on his shoulder and he'd think nothing of it, sometimes playing with her hair innocently. Now he couldn't even look at Annie without picturing all of those times he'd touched a woman with a fire – or a video of a fire – crackling in the background. His fingers dug into his palms and more than anything he wanted his rope so he could occupy his mind with knots. But then Annie would want to know why this situation had him so distressed when she was clearly at ease and he would have to explain to her that there were things that upset him more than his Games.

Or maybe she would believe the fire reminded him of his Games. That had been one of the few disasters the Gamemakers had lobbed at him that he hadn't been able to fully outrun or hide from. He'd burned his back and arm: harsh, debilitating injuries that would have meant death for any other Tribute. His sponsors just sent some sort of miracle goo that cured the burns within hours. As a mentor, Finnick knew there were four types of burn medicine. There was the really shitty kind that was cheap and basically in the catalogue to trick new mentors into wasting money on a useless product. There was the medium-grade kind that numbed the pain, returned the victim to functionality within twelve hours, and left behind scars. There was the high-grade kind that numbed the pain completely, returned the victim to functionality within an hour and left behind scars. Then there was another high-grade option that completely healed the wounds, leaving no scars behind, in exchange for a few hours of absolute agony.

Finnick's sponsors had wanted him to stay pretty while they watched him fight to the death.

The segment where Finnick was writhing on the ground, biting his jacket sleeve with his mouth so that the other Tributes couldn't hear him screaming, was one of Lascius's particular favorite clips to watch. He shoved a gag in Finnick's mouth that felt and tasted just like that jacket had and whispered disgusting things that Finnick really did not want to think about, especially not while he was sitting here with Annie.

Annie. Annie who was sitting near the fire with him, wearing his clothes. Annie, whose eyes he'd looked into deeply when he –

Finnick stood up quickly, not looking at Annie. "I'm tired." He told her swiftly, before she could question him. "Had to do some work on _Sirena _today, getting ready for the storm. I'm going to bed."

"Okay." She tried to catch his eye, but Finnick looked determinedly away. "Um, where should I sleep?"

"There are a couple of unused bedrooms. They're not made, but there should be some blankets in the closets." He should have been chivalrous and made one for her. However, he had not opened any of those doors since his brother and mother died. Tonight was not the night he was going to tackle that demon. It was strange to think of Annie sleeping where his brother or mother had once slept. He couldn't insist she sleep on the couch with all those beds in the house. _He _could sleep on the couch and Annie could take his bed, but then she would be in _his bed_.

No, this was the best solution. Finnick ran up the stars and slammed the door before changing into his pajamas. Since brushing his teeth would have required actually coming out of his room and possibly seeing Annie, he didn't bother with it. Instead he lay on his bed, trying not to hear the sounds of Annie moving around in _his house _in _his clothes, _washing her face in _his bathroom_ and settling down in _his mother's bedroom._

* * *

_His side felt like it was on fire again. Fuck, why did it hurt so bad? The label had warned some 'mild discomfort.' He'd like to take this mild discomfort and shove it up the ass of however had written it. Why? Well, because having things shoved up your ass hurt like pretty much nothing else in the world and it was the most humiliating punishment he could imagine. God knew it had humiliated _him _enough times. No, what? What was he talking about? He was rolling on the forest floor, trying to stifle his screams so nobody found him. So that Yvonne wouldn't find him and stab him with that sword she was so fond of, her lips claiming his as she sunk her blade into his gut, fingers wrapped around his neck, choking him –_

_Fingers were wrapped around his neck, choking him. He was not in the arena. The sounds were there but he was not there. It was almost disappointing that he was not there. It was hard to tell. Would he rather be there or here? There was pretty damn bad, but here was not a pleasant picnic either. Finnick ran that thought back over in his mind. Pleasant picnic. He liked the sound of it. His teacher in school, back before Training, had taught him a term for that once. Cons-something. Consa-something._

_There was a horrible whimpering sound, like a dying animal. Finnick wasn't sure whether it was the tv-him or the actual-him. Which animal was dying? The tv-him couldn't be dying because that was in the past even though it felt like the present and he survived so he couldn't be dying. The actual-him could be dying. That could happen. Apparently, that was a thing. Getting fucked to death. It happened to people. That would be an appropriate way for Finnick to go. Death from sex. Sounds about right._

_There was heavy breathing on the back of his neck. Finnick mustered enough coherent thought to be surprised he could still feel anything on his entire body aside from the burning pain of his back and backside. Only no, that wasn't right. It was his side and arm, remember? They were the ones that caught on fire and he'd screamed even though that was the stupidest thing you could do in the Games because screaming would get you killed but he was _on fire _so he didn't give a shit. Only he did once he wasn't on fire and he'd ran, crawled and rolled away from the Careers who were sure to come picking after the fire like vultures. Why did everyone think he was a Career? He'd had Training but he didn't volunteer and thanks to Myron he had stopped planning to and he hadn't been part of the Pack during his Games but then on television they acted like he was a Career and always showed him in highlight-reels that featured Career-wins. _

_Wait, highlight-reels? Career-wins? He was clearly going crazy because he hadn't even won yet and it didn't look like he was going to. He was lying in the mud crying and practically biting his tongue in half with his teeth, dying from the medicine that was supposed to save him. Why had they sent him something that was just making it worse? He'd seen the way burn-medicine worked; it never did this to Tributes. They'd sent him the most excruciating one because they wanted him pretty. They wanted him pretty so they could tear him to pieces and then patch him back together again, like that old tale his mother had told him. He just wanted to have a big enough fall that all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put him together again._

_His wish could be coming true. Finnick felt like a giant egg that was cracking, about to go _splat _all over the place. He wondered if there was actually any skin left on his back at that point. That happened to a Tribute one year: the skin on his back got peeled straight off. It was the second-most disgusting thing Finnick had ever seen in the Games (second only to Triston's beheading because he'd known Triston sort of personally and the timing and suddenness of it had been so brutal). If that kid had somehow survived, he would have been the best Victor ever. No one would have wanted to go near him. Lucky son-of-a-bitch._

_Except that kid was dead because people don't actually survive having all of the skin ripped off their back. So that couldn't be happening to Finnick because then that would mean he'd get to escape and that would be too easy wouldn't it? _

_Wouldn't it?_

_No one was answering him. There was no one here to answer, anyway, except Lascius and Finnick didn't feel much like conversing with him. He was kind of a dick. Mostly because he had his dick shoved up Finnick's ass. That was poetic irony or…something. Something. Finnick sometimes wondered if his mother ever looked down on him from heaven. If she was looking down, he was kind of tempted to wave and yell, "Hey ma, isn't this something?" like he had as a child. Look mommy, look what's happening to me. This is what I was scared of, this is why you're dead right now. Guess what? It happened anyway!_

_Somebody was talking to him and Finnick really hoped it wasn't his mother. He didn't really want her to see this. He stayed awake praying that heaven didn't really exist because he'd rather her just drift off into nothing than live through the hell of looking down every day and seeing him debased. It's not what she would have wanted for her beautiful baby boy, that's for sure. But she probably should have expected it. He _was _beautiful, after all. And the Capitol _loved _beautiful things. _

"_You know what I did then?" Yes, the person talking to him was not his mother. It was Lascius and Finnick decided to go ahead an listen because he'd frankly rather do that than think about his mother crying and screaming up in heaven while he let random people do whatever the hell they wanted to his body because even though he'd given up _her _life to prevent it from continuing. "I excused myself because you weren't going to die, and went to my private office. I locked the door and watched you. I can have the projection screen set to any Tribute I want. I pick my favorite and watch him until he's dead or he's won. I watched you scream and roll in the mud while I touched myself." He thrust in and out of Finnick quickly – Finnick could tell because his back started screaming anew at the movement. "And then – look at the screen!"_

I can't. I can't even open my eyes. _Finnick thought uselessly. He wasn't really interested in looking at whatever Lascius was eager for him to look at. It was probably something he was going to look back on and want to throw up. That was assuming he would be alive to look back on anything. Lascius's fingers peeled Finnick's eyelids open and he looked at the screen. There was a close-up of the tv-him crying, jacket-sleeve balled up in his bleeding mouth, his body spasming in pain. His water-filled green eyes looked right at the camera and he gasped, removing the sleeve from his mouth for a second and chattering out, "Make it stop!" And then he was sobbing like the child that he was and Finnick felt sorry for him. That poor kid. He clearly didn't belong in that Arena. Someone ought to put him out of his misery._

_His back burned more and his backside was throbbing because Lascius was speeding up and was almost finished. Finnick probably should have been able to tell when Lascius came but he was drifting, drifting close to edge until the medicine jerked him back sternly to consciousness._

"_That was the hardest I'd ever come in my life." Lascius panted. "I knew you had to win, then, so I'd get the chance to fuck you for real. I would've done it sooner, too, if the waiting list hadn't been so fucking long by the time I even realized there was one. By the time my turn came around that bitch had taken all of my money."_

A two-year waiting list._ The slap-happy conscious part of Finnick's brain merrily did the math while the rest of him recoiled at the implications. _That's impressive_. _

_The tv-him was still moaning and Finnick wanted him to stop. Don't you know? He wanted to scream at the kid. Don't you know there are people watching you and sticking their hands down their pants? Don't you know that there are people knocking down the President's door for a chance to fuck you? Don't you know you're going to have to end up watching this while someone tells you all these things? Don't you know that you're never going to be able to watch a Tribute suffering in the Arena again without picturing some Capitol citizen getting off on it? Don't you know that you're going to start wondering if the fucker who's holding you down jerked off when Tiberius cut Triston's head off? Or when Annie tried to dig out Tiberius's eyes?_

_Annie._

_Annie._

_Did Lascius get off on Annie?_

_The scene shifted, but only slightly. It sped forward. Finnick's eyes were opening and he was staring into the only eyes that could reach his soul, while his body betrayed him. Fuck, he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to get off on her. Please, don't make me get off on her. Don't make me. Don't touch me. Stop it. Stop it. Stopitstopitstopitstopit. Imnotgoodimnotgoodimnotgoodimnotgood-_

"Finnick!"

Annie was in front of him. Her hair was messy and only half-dried. She was wearing his sweatshirt and pants. Why was she wearing his clothes? Why was she in his bedroom? Did he fuck her? Did he put his hands on her, his mouth on her, his tongue _in _her, dragging her down with him? Because she wouldn't fuck him. She was the only person who would never do _that _to him. So it had to be him. He'd fucked her. He'd fucking _ruined _her.

"I'm sorry!" He backed away, worried that looking at her would bring back the memories of whatever they'd done. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it!"

Her green eyes, those green eyes that made him feel things that were _grosssickfilthy_ were wide and confused. "Shouldn't have done what, Finnick? You just had a nightmare, everything's fine. It's okay. I'm here."

No, she _was _here and that's what the problem was, didn't she understand? Finnick forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Distantly, he could hear something howling. He flinched. It sounded like the wolf-mutts he could hear during his sleep in the Games. "What's that noise?"

"It's the wind from the storm." Annie explained patiently, and his eyes flicked to hers frantically before looking away again. "Remember the storm?"

The storm. Right, the storm. His hands were callused from spending all day yesterday tying everything down to _Sirena's _deck. Then he'd come home and had dinner. Annie had called. His skin crawled. Called like his handlers did when they wanted him to go to the Capitol. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she _would _do fuck him after all.

Except no. She hadn't called him over. She'd invited herself over. She'd been shivering so he let her sleep in his clothes and they drank hot chocolate and sat in front of the fire and went to sleep in separate beds and –

He sighed in relief. And nothing. They'd gone to sleep in separate beds. It was all totally innocent. There had been no fucking. He had not fucked her. She had not fucked him. Thank the fucking _Lord_.

"Right, sorry, I remember now." He looked up at her sheepishly, feeling bad at how terrified she looked. He was the one who was supposed to be taking care of her. It was not supposed to be the other way around. "I'm sorry, I was just confused."

"You were screaming." Annie whispered, biting her lip. She'd gone to sleep in his mother's room, which was the furthest from his, so his screams must have been pretty loud. "I couldn't understand what you were saying until I burst in here. You said 'don't touch me.'"

Finnick's nightmare – a horribly vivid mishmash of confusion between his Games and Lascius – came back to him. He blanched. "Oh, well, Games flashback. You know." He said awkwardly.

"You also said 'don't make me.'"

That one made less sense in the context of the Games, so Finnick just shrugged. "I don't really remember what I dreamed about." He lied. "It might have been that girl from District Eight I killed – I really regretted that."

Finnick felt bad that once again he was using Alicia as an excuse, a ploy to make things go the way he wanted them to. If there was a heaven then Alicia was probably there – he imagined she would be, after seeing the way she went for his food and not his throat in the Replay – and listening to him lie about her. He was such a terrible person. He certainly did not deserve the looks of pity Annie was giving him. Annie was the good one, the one everyone should pity. District Four had it right.

She was giving him a sympathetic look but there was also something else there. Something calculating. It was the same sort of expression she'd looked around his house with. Like she was a puzzle she was trying to figure out.

Finnick swallowed. "Do you mind closing the door on the way out? I sleep better in the dark."

Annie frowned but slid off the bed and walked toward the door. She paused in the doorway and turned, like she wanted to say something. Her eyes slid over Finnick and he realized suddenly that he was sweating and shaking worse than she had earlier that night. He could tell that she was even more worried for him than she had been that night she caught him drinking in the Training Center.

"Goodnight Finnick."

* * *

A/N: Finnick is pretty morbid, isn't he? Which means, by extension, I am morbid. If he seems more messed up than he should...well, this is how I kind of imagined him in the books. I mean, when Katniss told him about the rescue mission instead of being worried Annie might be killed he said, "By the end of the day they'll either be with us or dead! It's more than we could hope for!" And he kept falling asleep and crying all the time without Annie...for him to get that messed up at the thought of someone hurting her, she'd have to be pretty incredibly significant in his life. Like, completely dependent on her. So it makes sense that he was completely fucked up before they got together.

It always seemed to me that Annie and Finnick were the same in many ways. Finnick was just as messed up as she was from the Games and what had been done to him, he was just allowed to continue on as normal and was not labelled as "crazy" because he was good at compartmentalizing, he was an incredible fighter, and after the Quell and his speech about the "secrets" he was seen as a rebel leader to the Districts. And they just cast Annie aside and deemed her "frail" (Katniss even commented on it, about how Coin dismissed Annie as being the kind of person she wouldn't even think about punishing, while Katniss's prep team was fair game). But Suzanne kind of did a good job of showing they were both equally screwed up. 13 just so desperately wanted Finnick to be healthy that they pushed for it to happen. In the beginning Katniss said they wanted Finnick to be some kind of rebel leader but they couldn't get him to stay awake for more than five minutes. And once they got Annie back and Finnick suddenly seemed to have shit together, nobody thought, "Hmm, this kind of co-dependency probably isn't a sign of two functioning, healthy, normal adults" they just said "Oh goodie, Finnick's back to normal we can use him again!" Not to say that Finnick wasn't happy at the end with Annie. He was. Deliriously happy. But he wasn't healed. Not like 13 pretended he was.

Essentially, this is my justification for making Finnick so fucked up here. It leaves an opening for Annie to become his entire world. If he wasn't seriously messed up, he would never have become so dependent on her.

Don't misunderstand and think I'm saying their love isn't beautiful. It is. Oh god, it really is. Beautiful? Absolutely. Completely healthy? Hell no. But sometimes the most beautiful things in live are the unhealthy ones. And I think if they'd been allowed to live out their lives in peace they could have transformed it into a moderately healthy love like Katniss and Peeta did. Still, it would have never been completely healthy. Because they were Victors of the Hunger Games. There's really no such thing as true mental health after that.

For anyone who was confused, Finnick's dream/flashback was him getting confused between a part of his Games that Lascius was forcing him to watch, and the memory of watching those Games with Lascius during his recent torture-session with him just before the Victory Tour. It was just a little more hazy and confused than an actual memory. Just a little, because in real life Finnick actually did start to become confused between reality and the Games (that was Lascius's intention with shoving a piece of cloth in his mouth that was the same as his Arena jacket - to make him have vivid flashbacks while they were watching it. Ew, right?)

Annie's starting to wonder.

Also: I went back and deleted out the part where Finnick realizes what's happening to him is rape. He hasn't realized that yet. He hasn't stumbled upon that word. He just thinks about it in terms of sex and fucking, which makes it all more confusing. Because while rape is clearly non-consensual, all the words Finnick is using do not have that kind of distinction. Which is important. Unconsciously, he believes that there is no difference between what's happening to him and real sex. To him, all sex is rape. He understands that some people choose it, but he honestly does not understand why.

Yeah, for everyone who caught that little nugget of information I hid in there, you read that right. Finnick has not masturbated since he was sixteen. That's going to make things difficult moving forward, isn't it?


	9. Part Nine

A/N: Big Chapter! (Not length-wise, but story-wise)

Warnings: Probably one of the least explicit stories in this fic

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Part Nine

* * *

Sometimes Finnick would find himself staring out into the sea, wondering what it would be like to sail straight off the edge of it. Mags told him that there was a force field, just beyond the fishing boundary, to prevent the Districts from escaping the Capitol's regime. Escape where was really the question. What was beyond Panem but wasteland and death?

"How much longer do you think?" Finnick turned to see Drew peering over the side of the boat, reaching out to test one of the ropes of the net. He drew back his hand, looking peeved. "Still hardly taut. This is actually the slowest thing ever."

"Well, they say that patience is the fisherman's greatest friend." He replied. Drew was just as antsy as he could expect a fifteen-year-old boy to be.

"They? Who's they?"

"Fisherman." His father and Myron, really. Finnick wasn't going to go into detail about any of that. He liked Drew well enough, more than he liked anyone who wasn't Annie or Mags. But that didn't mean he wanted to talk to the boy about his past.

Drew let out another huff. "I just can't believe it's taking this long. There's literally hundreds of fish that have swam in and out of that net."

"We have to wait until the net is no longer a foreign object to them and more fish swim toward it freely." Finnick explained. "That way we have the maximum amount of fish, which is important because at least half of them will escape when we pull the net up."

"Isn't that why spears and tridents were invented?" Drew questioned. "I mean, I get why we didn't use those when we doing catch-and-release. But it just makes no sense now." This was true. Ever since the Capitol raised the quota, Finnick and Drew had hauled their catch in along with the rest of the fishermen and made sure the whole thing was put toward fulfilling the District-wide quota.

It would make more sense for one of them to have a spear or trident at the ready while the other pulled the net up, killing the fish that tried to escape. It was the most efficient method of fishing and part of the reason those two weapons were such popular fishing tools in District Four. However, Finnick hadn't used a spear or trident to fish since before his Games. He'd only just started wielding a trident again as a way to channel his anger and frustration. He didn't think he'd ever be able to use it as a simple tool ever again.

Finnick narrowed his eyes at Drew, who looked antsier than usual. "Why do you want us to use spears and tridents so badly?" This was not the first time Drew had brought it up. Drew averted his eyes and realization dawned on Finnick. "That's what you were really hoping I'd teach you, wasn't it? How to use a trident."

Drew looked uncomfortable. "No, I really wanted to learn fishing. It's just, the Reaping is coming up and I thought…I know nothing about weapons. I'm hopeless with combat. I was the tallest boy in my class but I wasn't recommended for the Career track because I was so clumsy and uncoordinated. Not that I wanted to Volunteer or anything but I've always had this feeling like I just know I'm going to be Reaped. Every year I'm surprised when it doesn't happen. I keep expecting it."

This was different from anything Finnick had ever heard about Reaping. Most Tributes who were Reaped with Volunteering never expected. "Well you've never even been in Training, so even if it does happen, someone will probably Volunteer–"

"Like they did for Annie?" Drew replied darkly. "I hear the way people talk. Kids are dropping out of the Career program like flies. Things have been shit for District Four in the Games. We just can't compete with One and Two anymore. And especially after last year…things are always bad for the reigning champions, other Districts target them first. Then there was Triston. Even I knew about him before the Reaping. He was the _best_. The best District Four ever had to offer. And even he didn't stand a chance. Then there's Annie…" Drew shook his head. "Nobody wants to end up like her. I can't imagine there'll be any Volunteers this year."

Finnick looked out over the horizon thoughtfully for a few moments before he replied. "You're right. District Four is changing, they don't see the Games the way that they used to. But I still don't think they'd let you go into the Games. Because of Annie." Drew looked at him, surprised. "Nobody would want to see Annie Cresta's little brother fight in the Games. Somebody would Volunteer in your place. I'm almost completely certain."

"Like, they would sacrifice themselves for me?" Drew's brow was furrowed. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Finnick thought about his Reaping and how even the boys who had trained all their lives to play in the Games had stayed silent. Some of them had been really good, for others it had been their last year. And nearly all of them had been from the age group of the boy who Myron had failed to Volunteer for. "I think you'd be surprised what motivates people to Volunteer." Or _not _Volunteer. "But I can guarantee you that District Four is behind Annie. Everybody is getting tired of playing the Capitol's games."

* * *

The letter that changed everything came on a crisp April day. Finnick was sitting in the Crestas' dining room, trying to figure out what word rhymed with "oblige." The poem so far was certainly not his best work. It was his first attempt at a serious poem (most of them were just little ditties he made up to make Annie laugh) that wasn't enormously depressing and morbid (which was the best way to describe all his non-humorous poems). He was certain Myron would have mocked him for writing poetry had he been alive, but Mags had told him the only way to not go insane was to pick up as many different hobbies as he could. So the day had begun with a nice long walk down the beach (the water had just barely washed up to Finnick's feet, who had been the one closest to the ocean both there and back), a morning spent gardening with Mags, both he and Mags pretending to enjoy Annie's disastrous first attempt at cooking for lunch, and now poetry in the afternoon. Annie was knitting across the table from him and he had no idea if her mind was actually focusing at the task at hand, or if she had drifted off and was merely going through the motions from muscle memory.

They heard the sound of something being pushed through the letterbox and looked at each other. Unlike Finnick, Annie never got any mail. She was possibly the least popular Victor to ever win the Games so there were no Capitolites to proclaim their love for her on paper. And if there were any District citizens who wished to send their well wishes to Annie, Finnick was certain the Capitol would block those from making their way to her.

"Maybe it's a love letter for Felicia?" Annie suggested, quite possibly thinking the exact same things as he.

Finnick snorted. "I get the feeling the kind of boys your sister runs around with aren't going to express their deepest love through sonnet." As he spoke, he realized it was a ridiculous thing to say while writing poetry. But he'd never written _love _poetry. There had to be a line somewhere.

They headed to the door, curiosity getting the better of them. Annie picked up the small manila envelope, which looked oddly familiar to Finnick. As she opened it, he saw the nicely printed address on the back, which was too small for him to read. He recognized that style of printing. It was from the Capitol. His throated tightened uneasily. Why was Annie getting mail from the Capitol? Her Victory Tour was over and they'd have to be insane to ask her to mentor. What was going on?

Annie's forehead creased as she read the letter. Eventually she put it down with a confused expression. "I don't understand." She admitted, handing the letter to him. "They want me to go to the Capitol before the Games." Her voice was thin and wavering. "You said they wouldn't want me to go back."

Trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest, Finnick read the letter. It was short.

_Ms. Cresta,_

_Your presence is requested during the Pre-Games season in the Capitol. I require that you attend a party during the first week of the season. Please be prepared to be interviewed by reporters during your entrance, entertain guests at the party, and privately meet with any fans who pay to spend some time alone with you._

_Further details about the party and the specific fans will be sent to you in a few weeks._

_Enjoy the fine weather,_

_President C. Snow_

_President of Panem_

_(500)-421-0000_

The panic was now permanently lodged in his throat. Finnick blinked, but the words stayed the same.

…_privately meet with any fans who pay to spend some time alone with you._

"…Finnick?" Annie asked nervously. "What do you think? Should I tell them I can't do it?"

Something snapped in Finnick then, just as it had when he exploded at Annie before her interview with Caesar. "No!" He said, more forcefully and out-of-control than he should have. "You can't just tell the Capitol 'no'. It doesn't work like that."

She looked terrified. "Okay." Her voice was so weak. "So I guess I'll just have to go then." She took a deep breath. "Next time we go on a walk, I'll dip my feet in the water. I have to be more stable than I am right now if I'm going to be able to handle going back."

That was such a remarkable and brave thing for her to say. Ordinarily Finnick would have been proud of her, but he just felt cold. "No, no, that won't work. Don't put yourself through that because it's not worth it. You'll _never _be able to handle this."

Annie looked hurt. "Well if you think-"

He cut her off. "No, I don't think. I _know_. You can't do this, Annie. You just can't." Fuck, his voice was breaking like he was about to cry. Was he about to cry?

"I still think it's worth a try. The water thing."

Finnick released a cry of frustration. He crumpled the letter up in his hand. "No! It's not worth a try! It's not worth it! There's no point in fixing yourself right before they rip you to pieces. Fuck!" He gripped his hair, trying to figure out a way around this. Annie couldn't do this. He'd probably been about as ordinary and healthy as any Victor could be and it had destroyed him. Everything Annie was would be gone. Everything precious and beautiful would disappear. He would lose her. He couldn't lose her.

With that thought, he un-crumpled the letter and saw what he'd only glanced at before: President Snow's phone number. "You're not going." He told Annie, who had stepped back a few feet away from him. "I'll fix this. They don't get to take you too. I won't let them."

He marched determinedly toward the door. Annie followed him, bewildered. "Wait, Finnick, I thought you said – " He slammed the door on her face, shutting her inside her own house while he sprinted toward his own. Before he knew it, Finnick was standing in his living room, dialing up the number on the sheet.

A nasally voice answered. "Office of President Corlianus Snow, may I ask who's speaking?"

"Finnick Odair." He tried to keep his voice smooth and deep. "I have an important matter to speak to the President about."

There was a pause on the other end. "Mr. Odair, this is most unusual." The receptionist sounded flustered. Finnick wasn't sure whether it was a man or woman. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Capitolites until he saw them naked. "I don't think–"

"He'll want to hear from me." Finnick insisted. "Double-check with him if you want, but he'll want you to put me through. Please. This is important."

"Alright, please hold." Classical music filled his ears. It did so for a long time, too long, and by the time the receptionist spoke again Finnick was pacing in tight circles, winding the phone cord around himself. "Yes, he would like to speak to you. Let me put you through."

More music. More pacing. Finally: "Mr. Odair."

"President Snow." Finnick swallowed. "Annie received your letter today."

"Yes, I was wondering if that had come yet." Snow said pleasantly. "Is our dear Ms. Cresta looking forward to her visit to the Capitol?"

"No, she isn't." His voice was tight. "Please don't do this. She's not well. She won't be able to handle it."

"But my reports from District Four said that she was progressing very nicely. As you said, Mr. Odair, the sea and sunshine has done wonders for her health."

Fuck, this was hard. "It has. But she's _never _going to be well enough to do what I do." Finnick entreated him. "Her mind will always be too unstable. If you made her do this, it would drive her over the edge. Please."

"Why are you calling to tell me this?" Snow inquired. "I was under the impression you and Ms. Cresta were not close."

Finnick ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly he remembered the conversation they'd had after Annie's Games in crisp detail: Snow's satisfaction at finding someone Finnick truly cared about losing, and his annoyance when Finnick refused to admit to it. He'd wanted to solidify their deal, Finnick realized now. "We are. We are close. I care a lot about her. When I said we weren't, I was–"

"Lying," finished Snow, his voice sterner. "You were lying to me, and I hate liars. I thought we could be honest with each other and you disappointed me. I'd hoped that your meeting with dear Crusis would have made you realize it was in your best interest to be honest with me, but you insisted on continuing your poor attempt at deception during the Victory Tour. So I assumed: if you cared little enough for Annie Cresta to put her in danger by lying to me, then you would not care if she came to the Capitol and entertained a few of my friends."

Everything made sense now. Lascius hadn't been punishment for the Games. It had been punishment for _lying. _Forcing Lascius to foot the bill had been more of an exercise of control over the Gamemaker – with the added bonus that it would make Lascius furious with Finnick – rather than a punishment for Lascius. And now all this – the letter, including the phone number on the letter, Snow's leading responses – was a ploy to force Finnick into admitting what he had refused to admit in the first place. If he did, Annie would be safe.

Finnick released a sigh. "I do care. I'm sorry I lied. She's very important to me. If anything happened to her…" he blanched at the thought, "…I'd got crazy. Don't make her do this. Right now she probably can't handle even setting foot in the Capitol, much less what you're asking her to do. Please. I'll keep doing whatever you want as long as she is safe."

"And if she wasn't safe?"

He took a deep breath and thought about Mags. He wondered if she would have thought this was a cause worth dying for. "I can't make any guarantees if she wasn't safe." He told Snow honestly. "I don't know what I'd do. Right now, her safety is the thing I care about most in the world. If you can assure her safety, I'll do anything you want. Please."

"Say please again."

Finnick sighed once more, suddenly so very _tired _of egomaniacs and their need for control. "_Please_." He said empathetically, while inwardly wanting to spit in Snow's face. He could control that, though, keeping it from his voice. Hiding his contempt was something he'd become very good at over the years, thanks to Snow.

"Very well." Snow sounded satisfied. "I expect to see you in several weeks. You can expect the details to arrive soon."

The line went dead.

* * *

When they dragged _Sirena_ back to the docks after it capsized, Finnick hadn't wanted to go near her. There was minimal damage to the hull, damage that Paul and the rest of Myron's fishing crew had offered to help repair, help that Finnick had rejected. After a year of her sitting uselessly in the moor, right after he'd sat in his bathtub for a full day, Finnick dragged himself to the docks and forced himself to start working on her. At first it had been heartbreaking and painful – especially seeing how obviously man-made the damage was – but then something shifted. He noticed upon his thorough inspection of the boat that there were small bugs, clearly implanted by the Capitol, hidden between the grains of the ship. These bugs were meant to be water-resistant, but they hadn't been able to withstand being submerged underwater for as long as they had. They were dead and useless now, and the Capitol clearly hadn't either had the time or the motivation to replace them. Finnick took a particular pleasure throwing them out. Somehow it felt like he was taking back something the Capitol had stolen from him. With that thought in mind he repaired _Sirena _with new enthusiasm. He lovingly restored her to a glory even greater than before, relishing the thought of having something that was all his own, something the Capitol had tried and failed to take from him.

These thoughts were drifting through Finnick's mind as he stood on Sirena's deck, facing into the breeze, trident in hand. The Capitol had taken so much from him. Yet here he was, standing on something they hadn't been able to seize from him. They'd murdered his family here but he'd washed the blood clear out of _Sirena's _skin and untainted what the Capitol had soiled. His soul was permanently attached to her, to the precious memories of all those talks with Myron. They couldn't make him hate the sea or his vessel.

Boats were the heart of District Four. In the days during and directly following the rebellion, they were the one place the Capitol could not constantly monitor since they'd never found an effective spying tool that could withstand the treacherous waters of the oceans. Before training for the Games was legal children would practice in secret with their spears and tridents, throwing dinner knives at fish floundering in nets they'd pulled on board. The Career program had started here, on the sea, in District Four. There had been a time, when Mags was still a young Victor, when District Four was the reigning champion for six straight years. The Capitol had tried to stamp their training out but they could not find them all. So they'd done the only thing they could: they'd taken District Four's declaration of rebellion and twisted it for their own purposes.

Training was legalized and encouraged in the Capitol's favorite Districts. The Careers changed the face of the Games completely: it went from a punishment the Districts imagined would disappear in time, to a grotesque form of entertainment no one could imagine ending. The Capitol took District Four's pride and transformed it into a tool for the Capitol and the continuation of the Games.

At the time, no one in District Four had seen it this way. They were just relieved they would not have to fear being shot when they attempted to teach their children to defend themselves. They'd been rallying for training to be legalized, claiming it was their right to give their children a fighting chance. By the time Finnick was born, hardly anyone realized their rebellion had been twisted for the Capitol's benefit. They were District Four: home of the Careers, the District with the longest winning streak, and birthplace of Victors. It was only after Annie's Games that they started remembering what they'd originally stood for.

Now District Four was angry. Angry because now that they were no longer winning the Games, angry because when they won it did not feel like a victory, angry because they realized they were being used by the Capitol.

Finnick was angry too. He looked down at his trident and thought about those children who had trained illegally, breaking the law because they decided their lives were more important than obedience to the Capitol. He swung the trident experimentally in his hand. It was slowly starting to become familiar again thanks to the nights he'd spent throwing it in his basement. But once it had been an extension of his being, a symbol of his power. The Capitol had taken that from him, made him too repulsed by his own weapon to even fish with it. That was the cruel cleverness of the Career program. They took the fiercest and most talented warriors and either killed them in the Games, or turned them into playthings for the Capitol.

He pivoted, stabbing an imaginary opponent behind him. If Mags was right – and honestly, she usually was – they were nearing a boiling point. District Four was angry. The other Districts, the ones who lost every year and barely had any Victors to call their own, were probably angry too. Finnick didn't know if it would be a year, ten years, twenty or fifty, but a second rebellion was coming. And when that time came, Finnick couldn't be a useless, out-of-practice Capitol Pet. He needed to be the deadly warrior he'd been in his Games – deadlier, even. Mags had always said if he'd had a few more years he could have been one of the best fighters District Four had ever seen.

So he stayed on _Sirena _until the sun went down, relearning the feel of the trident in his hands, thoughts of rebellion burning in his mind.

* * *

His mother had once told him an old tale, one from before the Dark Days, about a man who was lost at sea. He had angered the god of the ocean and as his penance was forced to wander the ocean for many years, trying to get back to his wife, the love of his life. She waited patiently for him at home, even after he was declared officially dead, even after many suitors proposed to her. Eventually after several decades of separation, the man came home to his wife.

As Finnick looked at Annie waiting on the dock for him, he was reminded of that story. She was certainly not his lover and he was not a man lost at sea, but he'd always imagined the wife in that story standing out on the edge of a dock even as darkness descended, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, eyes trained on the ship she hoped to appear over the horizon.

Her similarity to the vision in his head of the patient wife struck him first. The second thought to strike him was that Annie was standing on a dock. A dock. As in, a dock that was over the water. She was all the way at the edge, only a few steps from the deep water. As he came closer, he expected to see her shaking and petrified. Her resolve was firm though and he could only detect the slightest quake in her hands.

"They called me." She told him softly, but sternly. "They told me I didn't have to go to there anymore. What did you do?"

He stepped off the boat and walked quickly toward the beach. "I just called them up and told them you couldn't do it. That you weren't stable enough."

"_Finnick._" Annie sounded angry. "I want the truth."

"That is the truth."

Annie sprinted around in front of him and pushed her hands against his chest, stopping him from moving forward. "It's not the _whole _truth. You said that you couldn't just say 'no' to them and now you're telling me that you just told them 'no' and they went along with it."

He tried to shrug past her gently but she wasn't having it. "I guess I underestimated my persuasive abilities."

Annie let out a little scream of frustration. There was no one in the area at the moment, but Finnick glanced around, nervous that someone might overhear them. "You're _lying _to me. You're the person I'm supposed to trust the most but how am I supposed to do that when you keep lying? There's something going on, I know there is. You were even more upset than I was when I got that letter. When you read it, I saw your face go white. Why were you so afraid of me going back there?"

Finnick's mouth opened, then closed. He looked around. There were a few people packing up their catch on a boat a few docks down, and a few more milling around on the beach. They weren't in hearing distance but still… "I can't tell you–"

"I know that I'm not stable and I spend half of my time seeing things that aren't here, but I'm tired of being coddled and treated like I'm made of glass!" Annie exploded. "Stop treating me like a child!"

"I can't tell you _here_." Finnick repeated. "Come with me."

And so he led her down the beach to the cove he and Mags had walked to when he was sixteen. The entire time his heart was pounding. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to tell her? The words he had imagined saying so many times ran through his head. _President Snow sells my body. _His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. No, he wouldn't say that. He would just explain the situation to her as vaguely as he could while still being honest.

When they made it to the cover Annie was staring at him expectantly. "Why did we have to come here?" She whispered.

"Because we could both get in a lot of trouble if anyone overheard us." Finnick explained. He turned away from her and looked out at the ocean. "The reason I was so upset was because…well, you read the letter. Did anything strike you as odd?"

"You mean besides the fact that they wanted me to go there?" Annie thought back. "I thought it was strange that they wanted me to spend some time with 'fans'. I didn't think I had any fans, much less some that way to spend time with me. I mean, I'm not a very good conversationalist. I hardly talk to anyone except for you."

Finnick took a deep breath and forced himself to turn to her and spit it out before he lost his courage. "Annie, they didn't want to talk to you."

A tiny line appeared between her eyebrows. "They didn't want to talk to me? Then why would they pay to spend time with me? Just to look at me?"

"Not _just _look." He paused, waiting for some kind of hint of recognition on her face. None came. Fuck, she was so innocent. "They wouldn't have wanted to talk, but they would have wanted to do other things."

"What sort of other things?"

Finnick laughed, partly out of exasperation and partly due to relief that this innocent girl wouldn't have to be fully subjected to the people of the Capitol. "What sort of things do you think?" Annie's face was still puzzled. "Sexual things."

Her mouth fell open in a tiny little 'o' of surprise. Then her face – predictably – went very red. "Oh, well that's–" She sputtered. "That's insane! I wouldn't have a clue what I was doing….and I'd never agree to something like that. I can't believe they even thought for a second I'd do that."

"You wouldn't have had a choice." Finnick told her, keeping his voice solemn but steady.

She laughed – short, frightened and slightly hysterical. "What would they have done: killed me?"

"Maybe." He dug his toe into the sand. "But probably they would have killed either Felicia or Drew – or both. Like I said, you don't just say 'no' to the Capitol. There are always consequences."

Annie seemed to realize he was completely serious and her red face turned white in a matter of seconds. She reached forward and clutched his forearm very tightly. "But – you – I – how did…" She inhaled deeply. "I'm _not _going because you told them no so…Felicia and Drew–"

"Oh, they'll be fine." Finnick hastily assured her. "You won't get in trouble for not going."

"But you said there are always consequences!"

He tried to find a way to explain this situation to her. "There are, if they'd honestly wanted you to go and do…that. But that's not what this was about. This was about me and Snow getting me to prove that I cared what happened to you." He sighed heavily. "He just wanted to prove that he was in control. That's all this was. He wanted a guarantee that I would continue doing what he wants."

"What he wants?" Annie echoed. Finnick screwed his eyes shut.

"Basically that I would keep doing what he asked me to do."

"That's not an answer." She loosened her grip on his arm. "I think I might be confused. It sounds like you traded my safety for doing favors for Snow."

"Favors I was already doing anyway." He assured her, eyes still closed.

"Well then what was the point?"

Finnick pushed more sand with his feet. "To make sure I would have an incentive even when…my other incentives went away."

"By 'incentives' do you mean 'people you care about'?" Finnick didn't reply or open his eyes. He just nodded. Annie inhaled sharply. "Your family died after the Games, right?"

"My mother and brother." Maybe if he just kept his eyes closed he could pretend this was a dream and he could tell Annie anything he wanted without consequence. "My dad died before the Games, when I was seven. His ship was caught in a storm and he drowned."

"How did your mother and brother die?"

"They drowned too." His voice was very thick.

"In a storm?"

"No."

Her hand was shaking on his arm. "Did the Capitol kill them?"

A very long time passed before Finnick answered. "Yes."

Something wet hit his arm. Had it started to rain? "And the only other person you have left is Mags…who is very old."

"Yes."

"And these favors Snow makes you do…" It was not the rain. Annie was crying, he could hear it in her voice. "He makes you have sex with people?" Finnick didn't answer this time. He pushed his eyes shut so tightly they hurt. He could hear Annie sobbing now. "Oh, Finnick. All of them?"

He knew what she was asking. It took a while, but he eventually spoke again. "Yeah. Every single one. Since I was sixteen. I didn't want – I never wanted any of it. But that's the person I'd become to the Capitol so that's what they expected. I don't even remember most of the night I lost my virginity – she drugged me, I can hardly remember any of it." He didn't know why he was saying these things to Annie, she wasn't asking him to tell her any of this. These were things that he'd never spoken to anyone, secret truths that haunted his soul.

"The first time they had me sleep with a guy, they didn't even warn me. I was so freaked out I punched him in the face and tried to escape. I failed, but did some damage to his face and some of his furniture and a window, so they had to refund his purchase and Snow really wasn't happy so he killed my brother and mother."

He sucked in a deep breath. Annie was rubbing her trembling hand on his arm and even though he knew she shouldn't be touching him – because surely his filthiness had to be contagious – he found comfort in her caresses. "And the worst part was, I _knew _that screwing up like that would cost them their lives. I was just so freaked out I didn't care. I was selfish and they died because of it. And then it didn't even fucking matter because he ended up doing it anyway and it's happened so many times since then because Snow threatened Mags and I can't lose her. She's the only family I have left."

He continued on, unburdening every suppressed thought that had plagued his mind. "And sometimes when I've had a few violent clients I can't help but feel relief when I get someone who's gentle and nice to me, and I actually _enjoy it_, and I feel so sick, because they're using me and I should hate them but in the moment I don't. I also don't remember what it's like to be genuinely attracted to someone. I see normal people who have normal lives and normal relationships and I _just can't understand. _I don't believe in love. I used to, but they've taken that away from me and _I hate them so much_." He'd been slowly unraveling with each unburied confession and now he was sobbing, sinking to the ground like he had when Mags took him to this cove for the first time. Annie sank down with him and rubbed his arm, not touching him anywhere else. Finnick was grateful.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered and he looked at her because why was she apologizing?

"It's not your fault, Annie." He told her, brushing back a flyaway hair that had stuck to her wet face. "This was going on long before I even met you."

She shook her head, peering intently at him. Finnick didn't look away because he was confused. How could she still bear to look at him, knowing what he was and the things he'd done? "I'm sorry that I doubted you." She bit her lip. "At first I thought that it was your way of coping. Later when I got to know you a bit better I thought that maybe your sense of self-worth had been screwed up and you thought you were nothing more than what they said you were. I should have known, though. I should have known that you didn't choose what they make you do. You're such a good person, Finn. I don't–" She was crying even more heavily now. "I don't understand how anyone could treat you that way. Why would they want to? You're so wonderful and kind and _good _and what kind of horrible person takes advantage of someone like that?"

Now it was Finnick's turn to shake his head. "I'm not good Annie. I'm a horrible person. I killed people. I've done…" He thought about how he'd come to the thought of Annie and shuddered, "_really _horrible things. You have this vision of me in your head that's so much better than reality. The Finnick you think you know…he's not real."

Annie reached forward and placed both hands on either side of his face. For one horrible moment he thought she was going to kiss him, but she aimed higher and grazed her lips against his forehead. No one except for his mother had ever kissed him there. It had nothing to do with sex or lust. It was purely _love_. "Yes he is." She told him peacefully. "You are the Finnick that I know, the one who takes me on walks every day, made me hot chocolate when I was cold, sits around with me doing nothing for hours, and was very sweet and kind about my truly awful lasagna." Finnick let out a surprised bark of laughter. He'd thought Mags and him had fooled Annie on that one. "That is the Finnick you are when there are no cameras and you are under no duress. That is the only real Finnick there is. He's been hurt and scared by the cruel things people have done to him and made him do, but he has clung to his goodness in spite of those things, which makes him better than good. It makes him amazing."

Finnick leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against her chin. Annie stroked his hair and eventually he drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace than he ever had in his entire life.

* * *

A/N: Annie knows the truth (took long enough, right?). If she seems a little too put-together, it's because, as I established earlier in this story, Annie can pull herself together in a crisis. I mean, at the end of Mockingjay when Finnick was dead and she was pregnant, Annie still had her wits about her enough to attend that meeting, vote no to the Hunger Games, actually bring up Finnick's name, and not break down when Johanna made that horrible comment about Snow's mutts killing Finnick. I was impressed. So she still freaks out in certain types of crises, but ones of the emotional sort she can pull through.

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews! I'm glad you guys all liked the last chapter!


	10. Part Ten

A/N: Yay, Part Ten! Woot woot!

Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews and support! They mean a lot to me!

This one is short, the second-shortest out of all the chapters so far. The next one is going to be a doozy (as in a lot happens) and I knew if I tried to combine them it would be way too much. Plus, this way I could get this part out to you guys sooner!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Suzanne Collins owns it all.

Warnings: Incest (not condoned in ANY WAY), sexual situations, somewhat-graphic descriptions of vomiting.

* * *

Part Ten

* * *

The Games were always Finnick's least favorite part of the year. He especially hated the first month or so before them known as the "Pre-Games season." Every year he was shipped off to the Capitol for that month, where he would attend party after party, demonstrating his approval and drumming up excitement for the coming Games. This year his role in the propaganda would be particularly important. He had to do damage control and affirm the rumor Snow had spread: that Annie had been crazy before her Games. That was the spin Snow and the Gamemakers had decided would be best to divert blame from the Capitol. The Games had nothing to do with her current instability; she had just been very good at hiding her problems until Tiberius cut Triston's head off in a display of uncivilized brutality that was "certainly not condoned by the Capitol." Then Annie simply had been so frightened that she was going to die she'd stopped caring enough to hide her insanity.

He'd told Annie not to watch any of the Pre-Games broadcasts.

"I'm going to be telling a lot of lies." He'd warned her a few days earlier, when the letter with all these instructions first came. "If you do end up seeing or hearing some of them, don't believe it. It's just to keep Snow happy and all of us safe."

She'd promised she'd stay away from the television leading up to the Games. Unfortunately, she was legally obligated to watch the actual Games and show her support. Some Victors got away with not watching them, but Annie was in too precarious a position to do so. If rumors got out that she couldn't even watch the Games…that would make it clear that the Games were the source of her troubles and put the Capitol in the role of the villain.

All of this was running through Finnick's head as he packed his suitcase an hour before he was supposed to leave. Annie was sitting on the chair in the corner of his room, a frown tugging on her eyes.

"It'll only be for a couple of weeks." Finnick reassured her. "And then I'll be back on Reaping day before I have to leave again. I usually end up staying in the Capitol two weeks after the event ends." Annie still couldn't handle hearing the word 'Games.' "If we have a Victor, then that would probably be sooner. It all depends on when the Victor is done with their interviews." He didn't say this was unlikely to happen, considering how few kids were left in the Training program, plus the fact that the reigning champions were usually targeted first.

Annie still looked deeply upset, so Finnick continued on. "I'll try to come visit on Reaping day if I can. But Mags is staying behind this year, so she'll be around to keep you company. She'll come over once the event starts and give you a rope to make knots with. Trust her and do what she says. She's been through this dozens of times with dozens of Victors. She knows what she's talking about."

She looked down at her fingers, rubbing them together anxiously. Finnick's mouth continued moving. "If she's not around and you need her, call her or go to her house any time of the day or night. Don't feel bad. She likes you a lot and just wants to help you. If you don't feel comfortable going to Mags for some reason, or you really need to get in contact with me, I left my apartment phone number with Drew, as well as the line for the Training Center. If I'm able to answer it I will, I promise, but most of the time I'm just not there. So leave a message, and I promise I'll call you back as soon as I absolutely can."

He was packing more clothes than he needed, mostly to give his hands something to do while he waited to leave. Eventually the suitcase was stuffed full and he zipped it up, pushing the contents to squish in as best as they could. "Don't be afraid to call. Like I said, I may not be able to pick up always but if you need to talk I will call you back as soon as possible. That may be at four in the morning, so just warn your family ahead of time. Or let me know what hours you don't want me to call at, that way we can avoid–"

He finally stopped talking when Annie stood up and hugged him tightly. Finnick squeezed her back in return, resisting the urge to bury his face in her soft hair. She sniffed and he felt wetness on his shoulder.

"Aw, Annie, don't cry." He protested, heart sinking. "It's gonna be tough, I won't lie, but it'll be over before you know it and then you'll have a whole year not to worry about any of it. And it gets better every year, I promise."

Annie pulled back, wiping her eyes. She shook her head. "I'm worried about _you_." She whispered, eyes watery as she searched his face. "I don't like you going back there, now that I know what…" She trailed off and sniffled again.

A strange feeling filled Finnick's chest – part sadness, part warmth, and part something else he couldn't identify. "Don't worry about me." He instructed her gently. "I'll be fine." _I'm used to it, _he wanted to say, but didn't. He hated that he was used to it. "Really, I'm more worried about you."

"Well I'm worried about you." Annie repeated, stubbornly.

Finnick laughed, struck suddenly by the strangeness of this situation. "Okay, well how about we make a deal? I'll worry for myself, and you worry for yourself and we take care of ourselves so that neither one of us has to worry about the other."

Annie rolled her eyes, looking very suddenly like her pre-Games self. That happened sometimes, where the old Annie would burst through without warning. Finnick didn't think she was even aware of it happening. "You're just trying to trick me into not worrying about you. You wouldn't actually keep your end of that deal." She told him shrewdly.

"I think you overestimate my selflessness." Finnick said, attempting to turn this conversation into a joke.

Annie wasn't having it. "Do I?"

"Probably." She continued to give him a stern look. "Alright, so maybe I wasn't planning on keeping my end, but it's got nothing to do with selflessness. You're my mentee: worrying about you is pretty much pure instinct at this point."

"And you're my friend." Annie countered. "And that's what friend do: they worry about each other."

That strange, unidentifiable feeling was growing. "I don't have a lot of friends. I haven't since I was fourteen."

"I don't have many either." Annie told him softly. "And that's why it's so important that I take care of the ones I have left."

There was no arguing with her anymore. Finnick shrugged and gave her a quizzical smile. "There's nothing I can say to make your not worry about me, is there?"

"No." Annie said breezily. "So you may as well stop wasting your time before you go, and give me another hug instead."

Finnick laughed and wrapped his arms around her. There was something different about hugging Annie, different than hugging anyone else. She was such a fragile and little person, yet she radiated a quiet strength he didn't think anyone else could sense. It had nothing to do with her physical strength: rather, it was the unashamed way she allowed herself to show her care for another person. Emotionally, she was probably the strongest person he knew. Unfortunately that meant that she felt everything a thousand times stronger than anyone else. She was like one of those canaries they used in the mines, which Haymitch had explained one time. They were more sensitive to dangerous gases and could be used to warn miners if something dangerous was approaching.

This had sounded all really fascinating to Finnick, until Haymitch let him in on a crucial detail.

The canaries warned the miners by dying.

* * *

Most people hated toilets. There was good reason to: they were gross, smelly, and lord knew what depraved things people had done on them. Finnick, however, had become intimately familiar with toilets over the years and had found the sight of them to be a relief. They represented success: a completion of his journey. How many times had he staggered to one, dropping on his knees just in time to hurl his guts down into the watery basin? How often had he pressed his burning forehead against the cool porcelain, his only comfort in a world where even his body turned against him? It was so much better than losing it on the way to the bathroom. With toilets, he didn't have to look at the partly digested food going to waste in a disgusting heap. With toilets, he could just flush the evidence away without allowing himself to feel guilty or appalled.

A toilet was always such a welcoming sight. Whenever he got close it was like the toilet was saying, _"Congratulations, you've made it this far, now hug me and we'll flush all your problems away."_

Finnick was aware that this was nuts. He was aware that _he _was nuts. But he'd rather focus on the aspect of his insanity that spent time thinking about toilets and personifying them than the scarier parts, such as why he'd become so acquainted with toilets in the first place. He told himself it was a normal reaction. He just had a weak stomach. There was a lot of stress in his life. And anyone would be sick after seeing the things he did, hearing them, smelling them, touching them…

He offered up more of his dinner to the toilet basin. Fuck, he really did not want to think about _that_. He did not want to think about it. He was not going to think about it.

Despite his internal protests, Finnick's mind walked back through the past several hours. Cicero Fetson had bought him for the evening, as a special surprise for his dear sister Klara. The idea of someone buying their sibling a prostitute for their birthday was disturbing. Even though Myron had been experienced he'd always been uncomfortable talking to Finnick about sex. He'd get going on a story and then abruptly stop, look at Finnick and mutter, "No, Mom'd kill me" and then never finish the story.

He'd tried not to think about Myron too much that night, and how strangely different the Capitol's sibling relationships were from ones that he knew (the idea of any of the Crestas buying a prostitute for each other was actually hilarious enough to not even be creepy anymore). That had proved to be difficult when Klara had started undressing herself and Finnick while Cicero was_ still in the room_. Finnick had tried to act like this hadn't bothered him at all, that he was game for anything, but all his mind could say was, _This isn't what siblings are supposed to act like. _He'd forced himself to act like he did in any voyeur situation and completely shut Cicero out, pretending he wasn't there.

He must have succeeded in ignoring Cicero's presence because he was completely taken off-guard when the older man crawled over him and pushed into him so forcefully Finnick's arms almost collapsed and buried Klara under the weight of them both. At that point it was all he could do to keep from screaming and pushing both of them away: there was no keeping up his seductive façade anymore. That didn't matter to Cicero and Klara. They weren't really interested in him. Yes, they touched him as well as each other, whispering instructions and shouting commands to him, but their lust was almost exclusively for each other. It didn't matter that when Klara screamed out 'harder' to Cicero, Finnick was the one who felt the consequences. He was just a toy to them. A sex toy they could put between them so that they could claim it wasn't really incest, something to absorb the sordidness of it all so they wouldn't taint each other.

When they sent him away they hadn't even bothered threatening him to keep him quiet. Sure, Cicero had beat him down and hit him (not in the face, only clients who shelled out the extra cash to rent him on his last night in the Capitol were allowed to hit him in the face) before fucking him against the dresser, but the things he'd snarled had nothing to do with anything that had transpired that night. It was all just a show for Klara, who he'd gone back to before he could come inside Finnick, so that she could wrap Cicero's penis in a sheet and suck him off that way.

They hadn't been afraid of him spreading their secret. It was like Lascius and the boy he killed. Who would Finnick tell? Who would believe him? He may have been a Victor but he was still just another District boy to them, a being lesser than human. They'd seen him murder seven children but they believed he wasn't a threat to them.

Anger burned along with nausea in his gut and Finnick promised to make them regret underestimating him, even if it killed him.

* * *

Finnick was exhausted to his bones when he arrived back in District Four for the Reaping. Maybe it was because he'd finally brought a Victor of his own home, but nearly all of his clients seemed to have finally realized this year that he was no longer a child. For some of them his youth had not stopped them from holding back before. However most of them had treated him like a little prince, a precious, fragile toy. As if he were a beautiful object made of glass that would shatter into a million pieces if they didn't swathe him in cushioning before so much as shaking him.

This year the more tentative clients all seemed eager to try something new. Those who'd stuck to strictly bedroom sex wanted to do it in the shower, or on the kitchen counter, or on the living room floor. Women who draped Finnick in caresses and gentle kisses would no longer apologize when things got a little out of hand and they ended up smacking his head against the headboard with their enthusiasm. Men who'd just wanted him to touch them before suddenly wanted to further their experimentations.

Nearly all of them made some comment on how much he'd grown up, that they'd watched him turn into a man before their eyes. Finnick wasn't sure why he was more a man at twenty than he was at nineteen. He thought he could see a little of it in the mirror, if he looked closely enough. He'd finally grown into his somewhat gangly limbs and the training he'd been putting himself through was showing in his muscle tone. The maturity was exhibited the most in his face, which was all sleek angles: hard and dangerous.

It was funny, because Finnick had carried around a strange, unacknowledged hope that when he became a man the Capitolites would finally gain a little healthy fear of him. He hadn't gone so far as to entertain the idea that they'd fall out of love with him, but he'd thought his clientele would at least diminish slightly. Looking over his schedule for the Games on the way back to District Four, his heart had sunk. Either his demand had gone up or Snow was trying to ensure that Finnick wouldn't cause any trouble that year.

Not that Finnick planned on causing trouble. He had too much to protect.

He walked around to the back of Mags's house, where Annie and Mags were gardening. Or – more accurately – where Mags was gardening and Annie was crouching in the dirt, staring up at the clouds. Mags's head whipped around when she heard Finnick opening the gate but Annie didn't move a muscle.

Mags took in his weary appearance and her lips twitched into a sad half-smile. "Why hello there, young man. You're not here to steal my strawberries, are you?"

Finnick chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Damn, you caught me. I was planning on distracting you and running off with them while your back was turned. Annie was my accomplice all along." At the sound of her name, Annie started and turned to look at him. Her eyes went from vacant to very _present _and an unconscious smile spread across her face. "Ah well. Foiled again."

Annie sprung up onto the balls of her feet and made a beeline for him. "You're back!" The exclamation was full of such joy that his heart ached.

"Only for a few hours." He warned her before she reached him. "I've got to leave again soon. I'm sorry." Her face dropped, making him feel instantly guilty. Maybe he should have let their reunion fully play out before gently reminding her. He expected her to shrink away and retreat within herself again. Instead she moved toward him after a moment's pause, wrapping her arms around his waist.

She smelled strongly of grass, sweat and dirt. It was a combination that any Capitol citizen would have wrinkled their nose at, completely revolted, but Finnick breathed it in like it was the loveliest scent he'd ever encountered. It was so natural and wonderful. The only way to improve it would have been a little salt thrown into the mix, though he knew better than to expect that. On his last day in District Four before the Pre-Games season they'd taken a walk down to the beach and Annie had tried to go into the water. The tide had just barely covered her toes before she panicked, thrashing and screaming like she was back in the Arena again. Finnick doubted she'd be going anywhere near the ocean again without him there and sincerely hoped she hadn't been set back as severely as she had been by her Victory Tour.

"I missed you." Annie murmured into his shoulder, caring for him in that uninhibited way only she knew how to do. She pulled back and searched his face worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Finnick chuckled, smoothing down her hair. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be asking _you _that." _No. No, I'm not okay. Every time I go back they take another piece of me and I don't know if I can ever get those pieces back. But the longer I stay here holding you the cleaner I feel. _He didn't say any of those things, just gave her back a soft squeeze, as if he could wring out some of her purity and absorb it for himself. "How are you doing? Are you going to be okay when I go again?"

Annie looked thoughtful. "I think so." She said genuinely. "Because I was starting to think I'd never be okay again and I would always be crazy and mad and sad and stuck in my head because I just liked it better there. But I forgot. I forgot that you're my anchor and can pull me back from anything. I forgot how easy you make it to be at least halfway-sane." She beamed up at him. Finnick's heart nearly stopped. He could freely admit without any guilt that it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. That smile was _heartbreaking_. "So no matter how bad things get, I'll know that you'll always be able to pull me back. You can always bring me back."

If this were a movie, a television show, or even one of those books Annie liked so much, Finnick imagined that he would be kissing her right then. Part of him actually wanted to. Part of him wanted to touch that smile, to see if that radiance was only a brief ray of splendor or if it would grow upon being shared. His hands wanted to gently cup her face the way she had held his the night he bore his soul to her. His body wanted to cover her and shield her from all the horrors of the world.

It was that thought that pulled Finnick back to his senses. No, he wouldn't kiss Annie. Not because he thought she would use him like everyone else did, not even because he was afraid of corrupting her. He knew now that she was simply too pure for him to corrupt (it was the only possible explanation for how she managed to spend so much time with him and remain so magnificently good). He would not kiss Annie because she was entirely separate from sex and everything that went along with it. That part of his life was confusing and terrible, while Annie was wonderfully simple. With her it was like being a child again. So it was no wonder he'd been so deeply upset when Lascius made him…it was just better to keep the two separate. It was better for everyone, Annie in particular. She had so much to worry about. Sexualizing their relationship in any way would only make everything more confusing for her.

So he simply kissed the top of her head, like he had kissed Mags. Boundaries were important. It was crucial that he knew where to draw the line.

* * *

His mentoring partner that year was Rita Fallon, a middle-aged Victor who'd won back in the 30's. She'd been beautiful once but years of excessive drinking and recreational drug use had aged her in a way that even the Capitol couldn't reverse. In District Four she was most famous for her well-publicized battle against alcoholism. The official story was that she'd overcome the disease through sheer willpower and was now proudly over twenty years sober. Finnick had spied a flask buried in her belongings and wished he'd had to foresight to bring one along as well. The only thing Rita's "sobriety" meant was that there would be no alcohol on the train or their floor of the Training Center.

As this was his first year mentoring without Mags since that disastrous first run with Freya, Finnick had the feeling he would need all the liquor in the world to get through these Games. Rita didn't feel the same. As soon as they entered the Justice Building after the Reaping, she pulled him aside. "I've been wanting to return to mentoring for years." She told him. "But they wanted Freya to get her rotation in and then Mags pulled rank on everybody. I know she wanted to help you adjust to mentoring, which is a nice sentiment, but it hasn't really worked out for the past several Games. Not that I don't admire your work last year." She put in the last bit hastily. "You were a miracle workerd, bringing that girl back to life. I'm hoping we can build on that and bring District Four back to its former glory."

Finnick had wondered if she'd seen the same Reaping he had. Corinne was a Volunteer and a Career, but she was simply not the same caliber of Career Yvonne or any of the other Career Tributes Finnick had mentored before. Officially there was no selection process in District Four for Volunteers, it was based on a matter of who Volunteered first. Unofficially, the instructors in Training picked their top several candidates and coached them before the Games, doing everything they could to keep their mental states eager and ready. In years past, Corinne would have never made it to that final stage.

Still, she was better off than Hodge, the thirteen-year-old Tribute. Hodge came from a poor family of cannery-workers with six kids. His name was entered into the Reaping Ball eighteen times and the only weapon he knew how to use was a can-opener. What was worse, he looked at Finnick with so much hope, as if he could actually save him. It made Finnick long for the days of his reputation as a shitty mentor. People looked at Annie and just saw a poor mad girl, forgetting the capable Tribute with specialized skills she had been. While it was true that Annie would have never won if Finnick hadn't sent her that book and rigged the Games (the public only knew about the first of these deeds), she made it through most of the Games on her own merit. If it had been Hodge in there, Finnick never would have been able to get him out. He was truly a lost cause.

The most horrible moment happened at breakfast the morning of the interviews. Corinne was chatting with Rita about the Career alliance while Finnick was challenging Hodge to an eating contest. He figured the least he could do was introduce the kid to some new sweets before he died. Eventually Hodge had stopped to listen in on the alliance talk – apparently there was something going on between the District Two girl and the District One boy. Finnick was willing to bet that scenario would end with Two's knife in One's heart. Hodge turned to Finnick and asked, "What should I do about allies?"

It felt so much like when Annie had asked about joining the Career pack. Finnick had to remind himself that it was an entirely different situation. The first thing he'd done on the Train was sit Hodge down and grill him on every single one of his skills. Hodge liked to fashion little dolls and action figures out of nature for his younger siblings. He'd wanted to grow up to be a toy-maker. There was no saving him. But Finnick had been putting his all into making sure Hodge had the best and least unpleasant chance of survival he could have. "Well, have you met anybody in Training that you like?" He asked Hodge kindly.

Hodge mashed his pudding down with his spoon. "I like Erica from Ten. And Terrence from Six." Erica and Terrence were thirteen and twelve, respectively. Hodge pushed his pudding around some more, looking unhappy. "But they're allying with their District partners. _Everyone _allies with their District partners."

He shot an entreating look at Corinne, who looked stricken but didn't say anything. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hodge stood up and ran from the table.

Finnick looked at Corinne. "I'm sorry, what was I supposed to say?" She demanded, covering her discomfort with defensive anger. "He had the third to worst score, after the twelve year old and that pitiful girl from Seven. I can't bring him into the pack, they're already hesitant to let _me _join. He's a nice kid, but he won't last a day in the Games."

Finnick swallowed and gave her a sad smile. "You're fine, Corinne. You didn't do anything wrong." They're_ the ones who did something wrong. _"I'll go talk to him."

He and Hodge talked for hours, until Finnick had to leave for an appointment. They didn't talk much about the Games. Mostly he asked Hodge questions about his family and his life back home. Somehow in the midst of answering these questions Hodge realized what everyone else around him did: that he didn't have a chance in hell. The boy started sobbing, wracked with full-body tremors as he finally embraced the reality that he was going to die. Finnick held him, marveling at his tiny body and wondering how he had become so much older than his Tributes in just one year.

When he left Hodge behind in his room, Dora confronted him as he tried to slip out of the suite. "Where are you going?" She demanded, sounding more like a human being than he had ever known her to. "That boy needs you, this is not the time to be making social calls!"

Rita waved Dora off like she was nothing but a gnat buzzing around. "Ignore her, Finnick." She told him brightly. She had deluded herself into thinking Corinne was going to be the Victor this year, when anyone could see that she didn't have that survival instinct that all Victors – including Annie – possessed. "Go have fun while you're still young! God, I remember my days as a young Victor. Those were wild times. The best days of my life." She sent Finnick away with a wink and a smile, rolling her eyes after Dora as if _she _were the clueless one.

Nineteen days later, when Johanna Mason emerged from the Arena dripping with the blood of five other Tributes – including Corinne – Rita was in shock. "That shouldn't have happened." She kept saying as she packed to leave. "Corinne should have been the Victor. She did everything right. She should have been the Victor."

Finnick did not say 'I told you so.' He kept his mouth shut and waved goodbye to her while she told him not to have too much fun during the Post-Games celebrations.

He closed his eyes and saw Hodge. He saw Hodge sit down on his platform as the countdown neared zero. He saw Hodge continue to sit there even as the other Tributes ran away and toward the Cornucopia. He saw Hodge as the boy from Five impaled him through the chest.

Hodge was a lost cause from the start.

That didn't stop Finnick from puking out everything he had in his entire body once the rest of the District Four team was gone. He leaned against the toilet bowl, blood and bile dripping from his mouth and onto the lid. He couldn't be here for two more weeks. He couldn't smile for the cameras and laugh at the reporters' jokes while he knew that somewhere in District Four, a poor but loving family was mourning their eldest son, who only ever wanted to bring little children joy. He couldn't meet the new Victor like he was expected to and flirt with her without seeing her axe chopping off Corinne's leg and sentencing her to a brutal death. He couldn't let the Capitolites touch him while they talked about the Games, like that's all they were – 'games' – and not real tragedies that real people died in. Real _children. _Tears spilled out from his eyes and onto his cheeks. His breath came out as sobs. It was all so disgusting. This whole thing was disgusting. He felt dirty being part of it. He needed to be cleansed.

He wanted Annie. He wanted to go home and see Annie just for a few minutes, just a few minutes to hug her and feel human again. Annie. He needed Annie.

* * *

A/N: I hope you all can start to see the Finnick from Catching Fire and Mockingjay emerging.

Rita is…clueless. She partied like a rock star when she was first crowned a Victor and eventually her alcoholism became embarrassing enough that the Capitol intervened and sent her off to rehab. In her mind, the Capitol is oppressive in that they do things like force people to go to rehab and threaten Victors to at least pretend to be sober. She thinks the Capitol doesn't believe the Districts deserve to have any fun (which is sort of true) so the notion that President Snow would _encourage _Victors to party and sleep around does not even occur to her, let alone that he would force them. She and most of the other District Four Victors are from a different era of Games, a time when Victors were treated like real celebrities. There are a few exceptions to this, including Freya, the most recent Victor before Finnick. I may still include this in the story (I planned to include it in this chapter, but it just didn't fit) but Freya is ironically very ugly (ironic because Freya is a beautiful Norse goddess). She is ugly in a way that the Capitol just can't make pretty. Finnick said in Mockingjay "If a Victor is desired enough"…well, nobody desired Freya.

There are other Victors like Finnick. They're just from other Districts and they keep quiet about their treatment, just like Finnick. The only ones he knows about are the ones from One, and a few from Two, because they took Snow's deal without being threatened (or at least pretend they did) and have no need to keep it a secret. I always kind of figured that the whole training to be a courtesan thing would be part of Career training in One. I mean, they were known for being beautiful and getting so many sponsors. It would make sense. In the backstory I've created here, District Four is a Career District because they are the birthplace of the Careers. It is their namesake. District One and Two were made Career districts to fulfill the needs of the Capitol. District Two to provide the bloodthirsty Tributes, and District One to provide the pretty Tributes (though they obviously had to be bloodthirsty enough to survive too). In face, that's where the idea of selling the Victors could have come from: from District One. So the Capitol came along and told them, "Hey, we know you volunteer for the Games because you want the money from being a Victor. Would you like to learn how to make even _more _money?" And it worked with District One. (Obviously there would be a lot of psychological manipulation to make a child grow up to believe that being whored around to Capitol citizens would be a dream come true, and that would be damaging in an entirely different way than what Finnick goes through. That would be interesting to explore with Cashmere, who was specifically singled out by Haymitch as being someone who had to be threatened into it. I can imagine her fighting against the brainwashing, trying to quit and Snow saying, "Oh, but don't you care about your family?") But then the Capitol citizens wanted to know why they couldn't buy their _other _favorite Victors, the ones from poorer Districts. And the truth was because those Victors just didn't care about the money. They didn't Volunteer and they were used to lower standards of living than District One. So they had to be threatened. And Snow had to be very selective about who he chose, so that they wouldn't band together and rebel. That's why he was never planning on actually selling Annie. He just wanted Finnick to get in line.

Johanna shows up next chapter! And a special visit from everyone's favorite OC antagonist (dun, dun, DUN)


	11. Part Eleven

A/N: This time I actually have reviews to respond to! (Not that people don't normally send me reviews, I just don't usually have concerns to address).

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MandyinKC: I've actually been waiting for someone to tell me if it was a little too much. I am constantly attempting to toe the line between explicit and gratuitous. Obviously this is not meant to be a smutty rape fic (lord knows we have enough of them on this site) – it is supposed to be a character study and a thoughtful exploration on the psychological realities of something Suzanne Collins only briefly touched on in her books. I figured as long as no one said "This is too far for me", it was okay. So I did try to be a bit more conscientious of that this chapter, which was especially difficult given what happens in this chapter.

On the other hand, there is an actual reason behind every explicit scene I decided to include. In the first chapter, when most of it was just mentions and brief glimpses, it was structured that way because I honestly thought this was just going to be two mega-chapters. So more of it was telling rather than showing. This was originally intended to be an overview of Finnick and Mags's relationship, but it morphed into the Finnick centered story that it is now, with a splash of Finnick/Annie on the side.

Some of the gory details that I include are to make Finnick's psychological unraveling more understandable. And I honestly mean 'understandable', not 'justifiable.' Every non-idiotic person in the fandom knows Finnick has every right to have lost his shit completely years before meeting Katniss. But I wanted to look at some of the inner-workings a bit more. And to do that, I had to throw away any squeamishness or qualms and get right into the thick of it. And that meant looking at it from Finnick's eyes, seeing what he saw. Many times someone will say "I was raped" and people will just nod their heads, like they understand completely what that means. But they don't. It is a very personal thing for each person it happens to, a different experience every time. What does it actually mean, in the moment, to be raped? For Finnick, it is all about lose of control and the growing realization that he is an object to these people (which was why the scene with the siblings was included. That, and I wanted a vivid scene to go along with the vomiting scene, because otherwise I would be getting "Finnick's vomiting seemed a little excessive to me." But the vomiting didn't seem excessive when you saw a glimpse of what he'd just gone through, did it? And the vomiting is important, so I wanted to keep that.

There's also the matter of balancing the writing styles. Yes, less is more, but there's also the rule "show, don't tell." Obviously the rules for that change when you're dealing with horrific subjects, but writers are supposed to be brave. That's what I'm trying to do. At the same time, this piece covers a very long period of time and I can't be detailed about everything. I have to pick and choose what I am detailed about (your reaction to the Games is precisely why I wrote them the way that I did. It was important that they be included because it is the fist long period of time that Finnick and Annie go without seeing each other, and it is Johanna's Games, but I wasn't going to dive into intense detail about the precise goings on. I only captured the themes that were important to Finnick) so I understand that it can be jarring when I focus too much attention on the sexual abuse.

So I am by no means defending what I've written. I wasn't sure where the line was, I just knew that no one was saying they couldn't handle it yet so I hadn't reached it. So I promise to be more careful going forward. All of those scenes were written with intellectual and emotional curiosity, with me trying to connect to Finnick and how his treatment made him feel without outright saying it all the time and hitting the reader over the head with general statements. They were _not _written for shock value and if that is how they are beginning to seem, then I will pull back.

Thank you so much for your comment. It was quite extensive and very valuable.

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Guest: You hit the nail on the head. This is _Finnick's _point of view. Finnick, with the screwed up views on sexuality. Finnick, who has no idea that what he's doing in the Capitol is different than real romance. Finnick just can't handle being in a relationship or being intimate with someone because he's not there yet. But he's also not at the point where he can admit to himself "I can't handle being in a relationship because I am too traumatized from all the sexual abuse I've endured." He's confused and he doesn't see it that way. So he projects those feelings onto Annie and makes it about protecting her from sex, when it's really about protecting himself. Make sense? Annie has desires. But things are confusing for her too, with her mental struggles and then learning that Finnick was a sex slave for the Capitol…I'd love to do a follow-up piece when this is done, a small story from her point of view where she struggles with her feelings after learning this. I think it would be an interesting cocktail of anger, sadness, concern and guilt.

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This chapter is SHORT. It should have honestly been at the end of last chapter, and I should have ended it at the second-to-last section (that would have been a hell of a cliffhanger). But I did not, so this is what you get.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Like I said, I tried to be more careful. But there is sexual abuse in this chapter…and death. Nothing too gratuitous, I hope.

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Part Eleven

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There was no way around it: Johanna Mason was a psychotic bitch.

Finnick met her at the Recap party, which wasn't really intended for Victors – who were normally too shell-shocked and traumatized to interact with Capitol citizens right after their Games – but had become the last unofficial stop of the Games for Victors the doctors deemed 'mentally sound.' How _anyone _could deem Johanna mentally sound was the main question on Finnick's mind that night. She was running her mouth from the moment she stepped into the venue, commenting scathingly on everything from the decorations to the people. The Capitolites lapped it up.

"That Johanna, she's so irreverent, I love her!" A woman he passed by was squealing to her friend. "I could just listen to her talk all day!"

It was slightly masochistic, the Capitol's love for Johanna. The more she beat them down with words the more they wanted from her. And of course, that meant pushing her toward Finnick and demanding a publicized account of their first meeting.

Lamar Ofaine, who Finnick was escorting for the evening, was only too happy to let Finnick go for a few moments. "Oh, I'm fine!" He assured Finnick when asked if he was absolutely positively _sure _he wanted Finnick to leave him alone. "This'll be one for the history books! I'm just glad to witness it."

Johanna was sneering at him when Finnick approached her with a dazzling grin. He had the feeling that her sneer was not fake. "What's the matter, pretty boy, scared I'll bite?"

He clutched his heart for the sake of the cameras surrounding them, casting the crowd a hurt look. "Johanna, I'm wounded. I've been looking forward to meeting you for _days _now. Can't you manage even a few nice words for me?"

"Well that would require the feeling of wanting to meet being _mutual_, now wouldn't it?" Johanna replied and the Capitolites gasped in delight – _what cheek! _– while Finnick's smile stayed firmly put.

"You're a wild little thing, aren't you?" He purred at her. "Maybe you need to come visit me sometime so I can teach you how to behave."

If Johanna's remarks had the Capitolites gasping, this one had them in hysterical tears. This was exactly how they'd wanted this meeting to go.

"Aw, see I like not having a body riddled with STDs." Johanna said thoughtlessly, as if STDs were not a taboo subject in the Capitol – there was a cure for all of them in the Capitol, the only ones who had to worry about STDs were the Districts, so therefore they were the only ones who had to admit to getting them – and as if there would not be really horrible consequences for implying that the most popular Victor had them. "So tell you what. Why don't you get back to me when I've abandoned absolutely all my self-respect and pride? Then maybe we'll see."

"I think your problem is that no one's ever treated you like a woman before." Finnick leaned in closer. "I know how to make you feel more like a woman than anyone else in the world."

"Well you _should _know – you've certainly had a dick jammed up you enough to be one." She said scornfully, shooting a knowing look at Lamar off to the side.

And so it went on. When it was finally over, Finnick managed to sidle up to Johanna's Mentor, Trevor. "You've got your work cut out for you with that one." He told the older Victor sympathetically.

Trevor managed to maintain a smile, but his eyes were weary. "Yeah, she can be tough to handle."

Finnick clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, just keep looking out for her. It can be a tricky adjustment the first year. If she's too much trouble, just send her to me. I'll sort her out for you." He made sure he was turned away from everyone else when he said this, so they couldn't see how his joking expression dropped and his eyes bore into Trevor's. The message was clear: _Shut her up or we're all going to be screwed. _

Trevor nodded. "I'll do what I can."

He left Trevor and made his way back to Lamar, who looked just about ready to leave. They were on their way out when he got a glimpse of Johanna, who was giving an interview along with Lascius. Her raw contempt for the Gamemaker made Finnick feel both liberated and anxious.

"We were all very excited for your victory, Miss Mason." Lascius was saying coolly. Was it just Finnick or were the bags under his eyes more prominent than they usually were at the end of the Games? "You impressed many of the Gamemakers with your talent and ruthlessness."

Johanna laughed loudly. She was like a wild horse, foaming at the mouth. "Oh, give me a break. You Gamemakers didn't want me to win. You did everything you could to kill me and get that boy from One out of there. You just don't want to admit to everyone that I outsmarted you. I _beat _you, at your own Game."

Finnick's stomach dropped and he glanced at the camera knowing that somewhere out there, Snow was not happy.

* * *

Johanna was nearly all anyone could talk about for the next week or so that Finnick stayed behind in the Capitol. How she'd fooled everyone, including the Gamemakers. How she didn't seem to give two shits what any of them thought, including the President, who she'd actually rolled her eyes at during her Crowning.

Finnick said 'nearly' because there was only one other topic of conversation that could divert the Capitol's attention away from Johanna.

It happened at the last party Finnick had to attend before he left. His date for that night was a tiny little woman named Regina. Aesthetically she was very pretty and she was somewhere around his age. Typically that meant he'd be in for an altogether not terribly unpleasant night, but she'd bought him on his late night in the Capitol, which meant she'd paid extra for the right to damage him as much as she wanted to. He'd given up hoping that these nights would go any other way, that maybe they just wanted to be the last ones he saw before he left and paid extra for that. Those hopes never panned out.

Regina was quiet for a Capitolite, which frankly scared him and added to his anxiety for that night. She left him by the buffet while she went off to the bathroom. It was there that Finnick overheard two women talking.

"…you know, I always said there was something suspicious about that man." One of them was saying. "Too invested in the Tributes, I always said. _Especially _the boys."

Her friend clucked her tongue. "I certainly think so. I hope the President fires him, at the very least. We can't have a man like that as our Head Gamemaker. You know, I went with my son to the Gamemaker's Gala last year?"

"No!"

"Yes, it makes me sick to my stomach, thinking about my precious little boy in the same room as a monster like that." The woman choked back a sob. "Oh, my poor baby!"

Finnick was ice when Regina came back from the bathroom. He waited approximately half an hour before asking her casually, "Hey, have you heard what everyone's saying about the Head Gamemaker?"

"Oh, the rumor that he beds young boys?" She sounded bored. "Yes, everyone's in such a tizzy about it. Apparently one of them died or something. The whole thing's being blown out of proportion, if you ask me."

"Do you think he'll really be fired?" Finnick's mind was racing. Had Eloise finally come forward with the truth? Had someone else known? Was it too much of a coincidence that this happened right after Johanna had made a fool out of Lascius?

"Probably. That or worse." Regina turned to look at him. "I'm bored. Let's get out of here."

* * *

It was much later when Finnick limped back into his apartment. Regina had indeed been just as sick as he'd worried. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the cramp that always accompanied being tied in place. There was nothing he wanted more than a massage at that moment, but there was no one he would want to touch him aside from Annie or Mags. The idea of Mags giving him a massage was comical. The idea of Annie giving him a massage…well, that was outside the boundaries he'd drawn for himself so he just wouldn't think about it.

He pushed his door open and tried not to dwell on Regina. She was one of the worst he'd ever had, with her love for Johanna Mason and her axes. Obviously she couldn't _fully_ usethe axes against Finnick, but she liked to play with them in bed. He felt a still-bleeding gash on his chest and shuddered. Yes, definitely one of the worst. He couldn't think of anyone more terrible, really, except for…

Finnick froze.

Lascius was standing in the middle of his lounge, a gun pointed directly at his chest.

Over the years, Finnick had many weapons aimed at him. Knives, arrows, spears, swords, _axes_…never a gun. He'd seen them, sure, but never as a weapon against him. They were the ultimate cheat. The unbeatable tool. The one weapon he couldn't train himself to outrun, to outthink.

And now one was pointed at him and Finnick knew for the first time in his life that he was going to die.

Lascius was shaking, probably with a combination of fear and anger. He looked like shit, the bags under his eyes almost a permanent feature now. With any other weapon he would be perfectly beatable. A weak, easy opponent. But he had a gun and that meant that Finnick was going to die.

Underneath all the shock and panic, Finnick was able to muster a little righteous anger at this injustice. This was the reason why, no matter how hard they trained their children and worked them to the bone, the Districts could never beat the Capitol. Not when the Capitol had the guns and they did not.

"Bet you thought you were _so clever_." Lascius sneered at him, the gun shaking in his grip. It didn't matter; he was still close enough to kill Finnick without having to aim much. "You saw that I was weak and thought it would be _safe _to tell everyone my secret. Well, the joke's on you."

It took Finnick a few moments to realize what Lascius was saying. "What? I didn't tell anyone your secret. I wasn't the one who spread the rumor."

"Shut up." Lascius snarled. "I'm not going to put up with your bullshit again. I won't be tricked again."

"I swear to God-"

"Swear to _me._" Lascius said nonsensically. "I'm the only God in this room right now. My word is the only one that goes."

"Okay…" Finnick placated him hurriedly. "Okay, I swear to you that I didn't spread that rumor. Think about it," He told Lascius when the Gamemaker opened his mouth to argue, "What would I have to gain? The Games are over for the year, I'm just about to go home. Why would I want to screw that up by pissing you off? And why would I put myself in danger, while I'm within your reach? It just doesn't make any sense. You think I'd find a way to spread the rumor while I was in District Four, or just as I was leaving. Not a few days before I was about to leave, to give you just enough time to come find me." It was all planned a little too well, Finnick realized. "Fuck." He realized aloud. "I'll bet it was Snow."

"What?" Lascius snarled, gripping the gun tighter. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not though." Finnick's mouth was saying. "Johanna Mason made a fool out of you, made the Capitol look bad through you. Snow needed to find a way to punish you and get you out of the picture in one blow. And he's constantly looking for ways to keep me in line, so if you blamed the whole thing on me, even better." He didn't think Snow counted on Lascius cornering Finnick with a gun. Finnick was still too valuable to the Capitol to die. "He told me that as long as you were a useful pawn, he'd keep your secret. I guess you stopped being useful."

Something Finnick had said struck a chord in Lascius. "He warned me before the Games." Lascius whispered. "He said I'd better bring home a worthy Victor this time, that I was on thin ice."

"See?" Finnick licked his lips. "Not my fault. I didn't do this."

Lascius brought his other hand up to the gun to steady it. "You _did _do this." He croaked. "Why do you think I was on thin ice in the first place? Because you forced me to bring that stupid bitch of yours home. Before you came along and fucked everything up, I was doing fine. Everything was going according to plan. My life was finally getting some order again." He sounded truly sorry for himself, like he was about to cry. "And now it's over. And it's all your fault."

"Lascius, I'm not the villain here." Finnick tried to reason with him. "I don't decide how things go. Snow does. You really think he was going to keep your secret forever? Sooner or later you were going to fuck up or someone better was going to come along and he would decide he didn't need you anymore. We're all just pieces in his Games."

"Shut up!" Lascius roared, moving closer to Finnick. "I'm not a piece in _anyone's _Games. I'm the Head Gamemaker."

"Not anymore." Finnick stayed very still as Lascius moved within a foot of him and pressed the pistol to his temple. He kept talking though. "Snow's done with you. You don't have any power anymore."

"Shut up." Lascius said again, pushing Finnick's head down so that he was on his knees. He was breathing heavily and full-on trembling with fear. "Suck my dick."

Finnick's eyes shot up and took in Lascius's expression. He was serious. "Fuck you." Finnick laughed disbelievingly. "You're not a client, Snow's not making me do this, like hell I'm even touching you. You don't control me."

"I could kill you in an instant." The barrel was bruising Finnick's temple.

"You're going to kill me whether I do what you say or not." Finnick's voice sounded alien to him. "I don't care what lies you tell me. I'm not walking out of this apartment. So no, I'm not going to suck your dick. I'm not going to die like I lived, asshole."

Lascius smacked him in the face with the gun before hurriedly pointing it back at him. It was a split-second mistake, taking the gun off of Finnick, one that Finnick didn't even realize Lascius had made until it was over. He cursed himself. What a wasted opportunity, one that he never would have wasted if he hadn't been exhausted to the point of breaking down.

"_In the Arena, there is no exhaustion." _Mags's voice from his Games came echoing back. _"There is only fighting and killing and surviving. You get lost in your thoughts, you miss an opportunity to kill and you're dead. You trust your instincts and use them to survive. All your training and skills mean nothing if you don't focus on one thing and one thing only: survival."_

"_I'm always angry. But you can't go to school angry. You can't fish angry. You can only fight angry." _

If Myron were still here, Finnick would have told him he had another thing to add to the list. You couldn't fuck angry. At least, not if you were Finnick. He had to tuck his anger away, hide it underneath a smile and pretend to enjoy it, while the anger simmered underneath his skin. He had hours and hours of utter rage and loathing stored up, waiting to be released. He could feel it bubbling in his veins, a poisonous bile that would surely kill whoever it came in contact with.

Lascius was desperate. He was terrified. He was shaking. He had made one mistake. He would make another. Finnick just needed to stretch this out for as long as possible, _survive _for as long as possible. There was only one way to do that.

"Okay, fine." He made his voice tremble, like Lasciu's blow to the face had him snap out of his shock. "I'll do it. Please don't kill me."

"We'll see." Lascius breathed out as Finnick unbuttoned his pants. "Maybe…if you do a good enough job, prove your worth to the world, I'll let you live."

_Sure you will_. Finnick thought sarcastically as he started working, keeping his mind focused completely on the position of the gun against his head. _I'm sure you're not planning on shooting me and then yourself once I'm done. _

Finnick was apparently very good at his job, because Lascius grew hard quickly – despite the fact that Finnick was hardly paying attention to what he was doing at all –

and when he spoke next his breath was short. "'S the only way to measure your worth in the world. The only thing about you that matters to anyone. Fucking slut."

_Whore_, corrected Finnick internally, though he wasn't paying enough attention to what Lascius was saying to get worked up about it. His left hand slowly inched up Lascius's leg, under the pretext of feeling him up. Lascius started gasping and groaning. Finnick flicked his eyes up and saw that the Gamemaker's eyes were closed. He moved his hand away from Lascius's leg and up toward his own head. Lascius gave an ecstatic moan, the gun shifting positions as he did. This was the right moment.

Finnick prayed to God that Lascius's first instinct would be to loosen the grip on his gun rather than pull the trigger as he bit down.

Lascius screamed and there was no deafening sound, no sharp pain in his head. Finnick grabbed Lascius's wrist with his hand and twisted it until it broke. The gun fell to the floor.

The Gamemaker's eyes fell with it. He tried to reach his feet out toward it, but he was in too much pain, he was too slow and he'd never survived the Hunger Games so he didn't know how to compensate for either of those things. Finnick grabbed it with his right hand and pointed it directly at Lascius's chest.

Lascius's eyes bugged out. "Wait–"

Finnick didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.

* * *

The Peacekeepers arrived two minutes later. _Two minutes. _They argued about things Finnick didn't really hear, because he was too busy staring at Lascius's body, which was lying in a growing pool of blood. He was pretty sure they were trying to figure whether to arrest him or not, and how they could avoid making a public scene. They must have figured out something, because before Finnick could get his mind to start working again, he was sitting before President Snow. Dragged into the President's office by Peacekeepers. Wasn't this nostalgic?

Snow delivered a predictable spiel, about how Lascius had been acting on his own without the Capitol being informed, that the Capitol had nothing to do with this, that he was going to keep Finnick's name out of this and expected his full cooperation or his loved ones would pay the price. Finnick's eyes traced patterns in the grainy walls. That one was like a wonky starfish. A little up and to the left was a trident. And that one over there, looked like a gun…

"Mr. Odair?"

Finnick jerked his head back to Snow. "Sorry, what?"

Snow looked peevish. "I was asking if you were paying attention to anything I'd been saying."

"You were saying that I need to keep my mouth shut." Finnick answered, because that was what he'd assumed Snow was going to say before he even entered the office, and he'd heard snippets of essentially that.

"And do you know why?"

"Because you'll kill Annie and Mags if I don't." His mouth seemed to have separated itself from his brain and was off doing its own thing. Finnick didn't have the will or energy to chase after it.

Snow frowned. "No, of course I wouldn't kill them. But I might not be able to prevent any accidents that may befall–"

"Mr. President, I just killed a man who was driven to murder me by a rumor _you _spread because _you _decided that he wasn't worth keeping on as Gamemaker." Half of Finnick couldn't believe the words he was saying. Half of Finnick wanted to cheer himself on. "Let's agree to be straight with each other. If I don't do what you say, you're going to kill them. That's the deal we've had for years, that's the deal that we're both going to stick with."

Snow's eyes scrutinized Finnick, as if searching for some sort of hidden recording device. _That _would have been a brilliant idea. Unfortunately no one entered the President's vicinity without receiving a thorough and surreptitious scan first from a nearby Peacekeeper with a little device that detected electronics and metal. Snow leaned back in his chair. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. Are _you _saying that you will not reveal the details of tonight to anyone?"

"Yes. I know whose graves I'd be digging if I didn't." Finnick found all of this to be extremely unnecessary. "Can I please just go home?"

His voice was small and childlike. It made Snow look at him in a way that he'd never done before, almost with…pity? No, he was imagining it. There was nothing but scorn on the President's face. "You will be sent to Remake so that they can treat your injuries. Then you will board a Hovercraft at five p.m. tomorrow to go back home."

Finnick closed his eyes with relief. He could almost taste the salt on his tongue.

* * *

They were waiting for him together. Annie ran toward him first, hair streaming behind her, while Mags toddled behind her. This time Finnick didn't care what any of the Peacekeepers thought. He let Annie run straight into him, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the feet despite the protest in his aching limbs. She raised a hand to his face and made to touch it, before jerking it back as if stung.

"You're hurt." Her voice carried a note of disbelief and he could almost hear the unspoken question behind it: _Why would anyone hurt you? _Because she would never want to hurt him.

He touched his own hand to his cheek, which was swollen from where Lascius had struck him with the gun. "I'll be fine." Finnick reassured her, peeking at Mags over the top of Annie's head and sending her a questioning look, before flicking his eyes down to Annie briefly. How had she handled the Games? By the sad shake of Mags's head, the answer was 'Not well.'

The Annie who pulled herself away from him looked thin and frail, but there was color in her cheeks and she jutted her chin up. "Yes you will, because Mags and I made you some home-made clam chowder from clams we collected on the beach and it is delicious." He laughed at her matter-a-fact tone and flicked her on the nose. Annie batted his hand away, cheeks turning red. "And it's a good thing too, you're so thin." She fretted like a mother hen.

"Don't worry Annie, we'll fatten him on up." Mags grinned at Annie as she reached them. She patted Finnick on the arm. "Let's go home then, lad."

_Home_, Finnick thought as Annie took his hand and led the way to Victors' Village. Yes, he would be fine. He was home.

* * *

A/N: And there it is. I hope that scene with Lascius wasn't too appalling, I tried to be vaguer than I had been previously, mostly because the actual events of that scene were horrifying enough on their own. It is important though. It's not for shock value. I am trying to get Finnick to the point (or on the path of getting to the point) of being the sort of soldier that he was in Catching Fire and Mockingjay who was willing to do whatever it took to take down Snow and the Capitol. He's learning to balance his just anger with his natural goodness and become a powerful enemy of Capitol. This whole Lascius saga was important because it represents Finnick's journey of learning to use his sexuality as a weapon, so that he could become the man who collected secrets to use against the Capitol. And Lascius was also important because killing him was ultimately an empowering experience for Finnick (I don't condone killing people, even unbelievably despicable people, but Finnick is not me and while he's not happy it had to come to that, it feels good for him to be able to finally take back some of his own).

On a side-note, one of the other reasons I included that really nasty nightmare was because I realized I had hardly written any of Finnick's Games (like I said, the first chapter was written with the intention of this fic being much shorter, so I skimmed over some things I would have _never _skimmed over now). I also simultaneously had an idea about Finnick having a rape flashback while Annie was staying over at his house and freaking out. At the _same time _I wanted to show how horrible Lascius really was, in order to justify why he was so much worse than anyone else Finnick had dealt with that he drove him to freaking out and abandoning Annie on her Victory Tour, and also picking up a Trident again. So all those things combined and made that awful nightmare. Sorry if it seemed gratuitous to anyone. It seriously was not intended to be.

Sorry that the Author's Notes are almost as long as the story itself :P

Next chapter will focus much more heavily on District Four and Annie.


	12. Part Twelve

A/N: Wow, there are just too many reviews to address each individually. Fortunately they all seemed to be concerned about Annie's character so let's get on that, shall we?

I read back through and realized I've slacked off in the Annie character development in favor of focusing on Finnick's psyche. Part of it was possibly fear because she's a tough character to get a handle on since she speaks twice in the books and there are so many different fan interpretation of her, only one of which I have ever really liked (Where Soul Meets Body) but really did not want to copy.

Oh crap, I just realized I've sent the five percent of you who haven't read that masterpiece off to search for it. I guess I just lost five percent of my fan base then, because you'll all be gone for days getting lost in the beautiful world of that fanfiction (apparently autocorrects fanfiction to fan fiction. How funny is that?) and most of you won't come back because you'll realize how horribly short this story falls in comparison.

Anyway, I was a little afraid of getting a handle on Annie. Then I realized in the story that she reminds me very strongly of my best friend (who also has PTSD) and who would be the perfect soulmate of a Finnick Odair (or at least the one I've imagined). So I took that and combined it with some of the characterization I'd already included (because I did do some, particularly in the beginning, but just not enough) and viola! Funny enough I think I must have been somewhat picturing my friend because many things that I'd already written about Annie were very true of my friend as well.

She kind of looks like Annie too...

As for you all concerned about Johanna, never fear. I love Johanna. I actually have a little ficlet about her and Finnick's friendship (not canon to this story). She's tough on the outside but all gushy on the inside. Deep inside, where no one can see, even herself. The moment in Mockingjay when she secretly treasured Katniss's gift brought tears to my eyes. I hope they do it justice in the movie. Johanna's being particularly bitchy and kind of clueless because she just won the Games and like one reviewer said, she's riding on her high horse. She thinks she actually _won _something, so she's reckless and out of control.

For those of you who love District Four and Annie, this part is brimming with both. Or should I say _brining__? _(See? I can do really bad puns. It's my special talent.)

Warnings: Psychological trauma, mentions of bulimia (treated respectfully, but be warned if you find it triggering. Also, Finnick's views are not mind, they are a reflection of Katniss and Peeta's conversation during Catching Fire. Annie's thoughts are my own), I'm pretty sure nothing else.

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns it all.

* * *

Part Twelve

* * *

There was an aura of solemn healing in District Four after they lost a Game. Finnick had never received the chance to fully appreciate it before. As a child he'd been too caught up in his own little world to notice it. Before Annie's Games, he'd stayed cooped up in Victors' Village, not wanting to face his District after letting them down. Plus, it wasn't like he had anyone outside of the Village to see. The only one he would have gone anywhere with was Mags, and she was growing more sedentary as she grew older. So Finnick stayed away from the rest of his District. Let them think of him as too egotistical and superior to mingle with the commoners, rather than know him as an anti-social hermit.

Life with Annie changed that (as it did most things). She was just as much a recluse as he was, though she was actually remarkably comfortable around the people of District Four. Finnick suspected that her aversion to crowds was not out of fear of the crowds themselves, but rather fear that she would have a panic attack in front of everyone. So she stayed away, keeping close to her family, Mags and Finnick. After the 71st Games, however, Annie seemed determined to change that.

"Would you like to go into town with me?" She asked him one day after showing up on his doorstep wearing a determined expression and her best walking shoes, like she was about to head out on a difficult journey. "Felicia wants me to pick up her dry cleaning and there's an old friend I want to visit."

Finnick had the impression this visit had far more to do with the old friend than the dry cleaning. "Hold on, let me check my _incredibly _busy schedule of doing nothing." He joked, hoping to ease her anxiety. Annie rolled her eyes predictably, but he noticed that her shoulders did relax a little. "Okay, I'll just get me shoes."

He had to go upstairs for the shoes, since he usually went barefoot and therefore had no shoes hanging around downstairs. As he passed his bed, he grabbed the sheathed knife underneath his pillow and slipped it into his cargo pocket. He never went anywhere without it now: nearly getting shot in the head had not exactly improved his paranoia.

They walked down the main road in silence for a few moments before Finnick asked: "So, who's this old friend?"

Annie tensed but kept her voice steady. "Hailey Clark. She was the best friend I mentioned before, the one who was there when–"

"When you broke that poor kid's heart." Finnick finished, probably too cheerfully.

"No! That's not what happened!" Annie flustered adorably before taking a deep breath and eyeing him suspiciously when he laughed. "You just like winding me up, don't you?"

"A little bit." He admitted. "If you want it to stop, you should make yourself less tease-able."

She scowled at him, though he could see her lips tugging up against her will. "'Tease-able' is not a word." She informed him loftily. "And I doubt it would help. You could tease a wall and find it hilarious."

He cocked his head. "What are you trying to say?"

"That you find yourself funnier than anyone else does." This actually hurt a bit. Did Annie really think he was full of himself? He acted that way in front of the cameras, sure, but most of the things he said in real life were meant as a joke. Well, maybe she meant it as a joke, though it seemed to have a truthful edge to it.

Finnick realized he had been quiet for longer than was appropriate, so he redirected the conversation back to where it had been before he led them both astray. "So, Hailey Clark."

"Hailey Clark." Annie repeated. "She came to see me while you were away – I guess Felicia contacted her – but I threw a screaming fit and refused to see her." There was so much self-loathing in her voice it threw Finnick off-guard. Mags had told him Annie had seriously struggled during the Games, but he hadn't known she was all that aware of it. He knew she would occasionally get very frustrated with herself when she'd come out of a fit, or realize she'd daydreamed through an entire conversation. So he supposed it made sense for her to start blaming and judging herself for the way she behaved during the Games once she was self-aware enough to do so. Annie breathed deeply. "Anyway, I'm going to see her today to apologize and possibly…reconnect. I'm not sure. We'll have to see how it goes."

_We'll have to see how it goes _meant _If I don't have a panic attack or drift off completely from the conversation and scare her away for good. _"I'm sure it'll be fine…and, if it doesn't, at least you tried, right?" Finnick said, thinking of Trisha and absently wondering what she was doing with her life now. Obviously she had never Volunteered – which he was infinitely grateful for – so maybe she had gone to work on one of the longliners or trawlers like most "failed" (Finnick would call them "smart") Career kids did. Her family had been poor and she'd been put through Training with government money, on scholarship for her strength and intelligent. Scholarship Trainees nearly always Volunteered since they faced pretty severe financial penalties if they didn't. Finnick wondered if he'd had something to do with her decision to not Volunteer or if she'd never intended to from the beginning. Maybe he _was _full of himself, but he imagined it was the former. Watching your best friend get Reaped, win, and then come back an entirely different person had to have some sort of negative effect.

He was pretty sure he'd seen her amongst the crowd when Annie returned home last year, holding the hand of another guy. Her boyfriend? Her fiancée? Her husband? Did she have kids? Finnick was struck by a sudden desire to know the answers to these questions.

Annie led them down a route she obviously knew by heart, to a cluster of weatherworn but lovingly cared for little homes. Finnick squeezed her shoulder. "Do you want me to go in there with you?"

"Actually…" She gave him a startled, sheepish look. "Sorry, I guess I dragged you along without being completely candid about my intentions. I want to do this alone. I _need _to do this alone," She amended, more to herself than Finnick. "I'm sorry, I thought maybe you would have something you wanted to do while I was here."

Ah. Finnick speculated whether this was a ploy to force him into spending some time in town by himself, before quickly rejecting that idea. Not everything was about him. This was about Annie. "Do you want me to give you an hour?"

"Maybe two? Sorry." Annie repeated.

He chuckled. "Stop saying 'sorry.' It's ceasing to have any meaning." A flash of hurt crossed her face and he realized she took that the wrong way. "I mean that you don't have to be so apologetic. It's fine. How about we meet by Carlito's at–" He checked his watch "–half past one?"

"The sweet shop." Annie's tense face relaxed into a grin. "I should have known. I bet you lived there as a child."

"Actually, I was more of a market brat." Finnick rubbed the back of his heck. "Couldn't, ah, couldn't really afford Carlito's."

Annie looked chagrined but also curious. "Really? I never would have imagined."

"Wait, you didn't know I grew up poor?" He demanded of her. "That was probably the single defining part about my identity until I entered Training. I practically introduced myself to people like, 'Hello, my name is Finnick Odair and I'm _poor_.'"

"But you were in Training." Annie pointed out. "We always thought kids in Training were rich, that it cost a lot of money."

"It did." Finnick agreed. "It nearly sucked my family completely dry, putting both me and my brother through Training. Myron started Training before we were poor, when my Dad was still alive. We were probably middle class for District Four then, not bad off at all. Most Trainees are from the middle class, the serious ones anyway who actually plan on Volunteering. Myron didn't plan on Volunteering in the beginning and neither did I. It was a precaution. My Dad always used to say, 'If the Capitol tries to take my sons, they'll at least know how to fight!' Then he died and things were really hard for a long time. My Mom agreed that Training was important and figured out how to stretch out our savings so that we could afford to both go through it, even though neither of us were smart enough to qualifty for a scholarship. But that meant we couldn't afford most other things, and for the year and a half we were both in Training that meant we only had one meal a day sometimes. My mom worked really hard to make sure we always had _something _on the table though, so we definitely never starved."

Something flickered in Annie's eyes and he wondered if he'd said something that bothered her. Or maybe she was just annoyed with him seizing the conversation and running off with it, like he always seemed to. He liked to tell stories and Annie was one of the few people he could tell his _real _stories to, and she seemed to enjoy them, but he'd been realizing lately this came at the expense of her own contributions to the conversation. There was so much he still didn't know about her.

Finnick cleared his throat and gestured toward the house. "Anyway, they're probably crouching nervously in there waiting for the crazy Victors to either leave or come in." Annie laughed weakly and it belatedly occurred to him that describing Annie as 'crazy' – even if he was talking about both of them – was more than a little insensitive. Wow, he was just on a roll today, wasn't he?

"Okay, I'll see you at one-thirty." Annie dismissed him before he could say anything even stupider, which Finnick was grateful for.

"One-thirty." He affirmed with a grin and strolling away. He made it all the way down the street before he stopped, feeling disoriented.

What was he going to do in town for two hours?

* * *

The Sardine Can was generally known for being the shittiest part to live in District Four. As the name suggested, it was near the canneries – the area between the canneries and the trawler docks, to be more precise. Also true to its name all the residences and the very few shops were packed tightly against and on top of each other.

And yes, the smell was certainly a contributing factor toward the moniker.

Finnick had only been to the Sardine Can a few times since he moved to Victors' Village, mostly for the nostalgic purpose of seeing his old home. He didn't actually know the family that had moved into the house so they had probably been more than a little weirded out by him staring at their house from across the street. It had been demolished a few years ago, along with the rest of its block, to make room for yet another cannery to fill the air with rotting fish smell and the streets with rotting fish guts. Ever since then Finnick hadn't found any reason to return. Until now.

He double-checked the address he'd written down. People in this part of town were not exactly in love with Victors, particularly not him, so it wouldn't do to go knocking on the wrong doors. Then again, he'd probably get a friendly reception from a stranger than he would from the family he was going to see.

_Grow a pair, Odair._ He scolded himself, while off-handedly enjoying how easy it was to unintentionally rhyme something with his last name. _If Annie can face her demons, so can you._

Heart pounding, Finnick rapped on the door.

A little girl answered it. "Hello?" She peered up at him with deep brown eyes.

He'd seen eyes like that before. He'd watched them squeeze shut tightly as they embraced their imminent death. "Hi…Rachelle, right?" He questioned, running through the names of Hodge's five siblings.

He must have gotten it wrong, because her tiny nose wrinkled. "No, Rachelle's my little sister."

"Verona, then." Finnick corrected. "Sorry, I wasn't sure which one you were."

She looked extremely put out. "She's _five_. I'm _seven_. Do I look five to you?"

The answer was honestly 'yes', with her underfed body. "Not at all!" Finnick assured her, giving her a winning smile. "I just got the names mixed up, not the ages. I actually thought you were eight. Are you sure you're only seven?"

A pleased grin crossed her face. It was funny – in twenty years she would be smiling like that if a guy told her he thought she was a year _younger. _The smile faded a bit. "What do you need, mister?" She wasn't at the age where she would start recognizing famous figures then. It was refreshing to talk to someone who had no idea who he was.

"I actually wanted to speak to your parents. Are they around?" It was Sunday, the day most cannery workers had off, especially the ones with kids. His mother said it was for traditional reasons that had something to do with Christianity, which had been some sort of religion. Apparently District Four had originally been colonized by the remnants of a church during the Dark Days. Obviously Christianity had been abolished when the Capitol took over District Four (which had once been called "Eden"), but many of the original ideas and phrases stuck around. Most District Four citizens used them unthinkingly nowadays though Finnick's mother, who believed strongly in preserving culture, had tried to educate him and Myron on their meaning. "If you're going to use the Lord's name in vain, you should at least be aware of the implications," she would always say.

Verona turned over her shoulder. "Ma! Dad!" She called in a booming voice too big for her body. "Some man's here to see you!"

There was the sound of quick footsteps behind her. These people probably lived in fear of strangers coming to see them, living from paycheck to paycheck as they did. The woman who appeared behind Verona looked relieved for a moment when she saw that it was not a Peacekeeper at her door, before her face hardened upon recognizing him.

"Verona, go upstairs." The man told her, coming up behind his wife and putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Do I _have to_?" Verona whined, shooting a curious look at Finnick. Apparently he had won her interest and favor with his comment about her age.

"Go now." Her mother said firmly.

Verona scampered off, probably to find her siblings so they could hide around the corner and eavesdrop. Her parents stood as side-by-side as they could in the little doorframe, the father standing slightly behind the mother. They formed a defensive barrier for their home, protecting it from the enemy. From Finnick.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brigam." Finnick began, his palms sweating furiously. "I'm Finnick Odair."

"We know." Mr. Brigam's voice was short. It said: _You're not welcome here._

_I used to live two blocks down and around the corner, _Finnick wanted to say. "Okay," He said instead. "Well, then you probably know why I'm here. I wanted to apologize personally for your los – for Hodge." He corrected. How many times had he wanted to punch somebody in the face for depersonalizing the death of his family with the words "your loss," just because it made them uncomfortable? "He was a good kid."

"The mayor came by and offered his condolences already." Mr. Brigam told him. "When he died. On the first day."

"I'm not here for the Capitol, or District Four." Finnick's hand moved to run through his hair nervously and he forced it to stay in place. "I'm here for Hodge. I think he deserved more than just a formula apology to remember him by."

"We don't need anything more to remember him by, thank you." Mrs. Brigam's words were polite. Her voice said: _Fuck you_. "Have a good day."

She moved to close the door. Finnick put his foot in the way. "Wait!" He blurted out. "I know you hate me. You should. It's my fault. I should have done something more. I should have made him believe he had more of a chance. Maybe if I had he would have actually tried to survive…maybe he would have." Mrs. Brigam looked like she was about to cry or shove him onto the street. He wasn't sure which one he would have preferred. "I just wanted to tell you that he was brave. He said that he didn't want his family to watch him suffer…I think that might be why he did it. But he was brave, not because of the 'sacrifice he made for the Capitol.'" Finnick shook his head. "Because it wasn't a sacrifice. It was a waste. It's all a waste."

The Brigams' eyes widened and they looked at each other nervously out of the corners of their eyes. They probably were afraid he was here to trick them into saying something traitorous. Finnick wanted to tell them that they needn't worry, that most of the surveillance equipment Snow used to spy on Victors was probably being put to use in District Seven right now. He wasn't that confident in his theory to say something like that, though. Subtle treason was far safer than outright spilling of Capitol secrets.

Finnick chewed on the inside corner of his cheek. It had been too long since he'd been to the Sardine Can, because the smell was starting to get to him. He needed to vomit. It was because of the smell, the smell was making him want to vomit. It was just – oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't just the smell. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that." He concluded lamely, before turning around, planning to find the nearest public bathroom.

A hand clamped down on his arm and though he stiffened, Finnick managed to gain control of himself quickly enough not to break the wrist of whoever had just grabbed him. He turned instead to see Mr. Brigam looking at him with wet eyes. "Would you like to stay for lunch?"

* * *

Lunch with the Brigam's was an understandably loud affair. Finnick spent the hour crammed in amongst five children from ages five to eleven, who all were trying to elbow their way around the others to sit next to him or talk to him. At first he'd protested the offer, incredibly flattered as he had been, because he knew they were a struggling family with many mouths to feed. He hadn't outright said why, out of fear of offending them, just that he didn't deserve their hospitality; Mrs. Brigam had read between the lines and said matter-a-factly, "We've got more food than we can eat right now, with everyone in the neighborhood bringing us their extras. You'd actually be doing _us _a favor, helping us make sure none of it goes to waste." He hadn't quite bought that, because she had three growing boys and he remembered how much food both he and Myron could go through in a week, but with her fierce pride on the line he accepted.

Rachelle, although five, was nearly as big as Verona which explained the insecurities he'd exposed by mixing them up. Dante, the middle child, spent the entire mile staring at Finnick with enormous eyes. As soon as they entered the kitchen (where all the children were predictably gathered, looking extremely innocent) Ivan had run up and touched Finnick's hair before turning to his older brother and saying, "I told you it was real!" The oldest, Kale, was the only one to somewhat understand the role Finnick had played in his brother's murder, and took cues from his parents as to how he was supposed to behave about that. He would be Reaping age next year.

The Brigams worked at the South Georgeston Cannery and had not known his mother, but they did know Ms. Radley, his mother's old friend who had apparently transferred from Rockgate Cannery to work at theirs a few years ago. Ms. Radley was one of the few people who'd stayed in contact with Finnick's mother when she moved to Victors' Village, though she'd always watched Finnick with a wary eye after his Games. Most people did. He didn't blame her.

Finnick tried to keep his meal limited and consisting of mostly vegetables and other food he knew would go bad the quickest. His attempts were constantly foiled by the Brigam children, who insisted that he had to try a bit of the chili Mrs. Trinch had sent them and pilled sweet yams onto his plate because sweet yams was the most awesome food in the entire universe. He told them that no, Mags' clam chowder was the most awesome food in the entire universe and when they demanded to try that just to prove him wrong he promised he'd bring some over next week. Mrs. Brigam raised her eyebrows at that and gave him a knowing look but allowed it.

He left the little house feeling somewhat full of food and positively bursting with confusing warmth. They should have slammed the door in his face. Instead they'd welcomed him into their home. The kids had been practically crying when he'd announced he had to meet a friend, clinging to him as he walked out. By the time he got out onto the street he'd somehow been swindled into taking Ivan out on _Sirena _sometime and letting Verona and Rachelle play with his hair – because it was _so pretty _– next time. Because there was going to be a next time, of course. He was the man who'd escorted their precious older brother to his death and _of course he was going to come over and play with them again._

Annie approached him, looking remarkably peaceful. "You look like you've had a good day."

"I could say the same for you." Once he'd escaped the overwhelming love of the Brigam house, he'd felt bad for forgetting about Annie while she was possibly undergoing a difficult time. There was no sign of pulled hair or fingernail scratches on her. His smile was reflected softly on her.

She nodded. "Well, you would be right." They walked out of town together, strolling slowly, enjoying the nostalgic sights, and swapping stories of their respective days. Hailey had apparently burst into joyous tears at the sight of her friend, wrapping her into a hug without asking. "That was nice," Annie recalled, "because people always ask me if they can touch me, like they're afraid I'll explode if they do. I don't have a problem with contact. Most days I don't think I get enough of it." Then Hailey explained that she'd apparently tried to visit Annie in the days following her return home but Annie had been too upset to see her or even recognize her. Hailey's mother had suggested she give Annie time to recover, that she'd reach out when she was ready. It had been tough advice to follow, especially when Hailey saw how much of a wreck Annie was during her Victory Tour. She'd seen Annie a few times in town or on the beach but every time she'd tried to make eye contact Annie would look away. "I thought she was staring at me because she was so shocked by how crazy I'd become," Annie explained. "So I looked away so I didn't have to see it." Finally during the 71st Games when Annie had been really struggling, Felicia contacted Hailey and brought her to see Annie.

When Annie came to this point she stopped walking suddenly and let out a gasp. "What?" Finnick questioned in concern. Was she having an attack?

"We forgot Felicia's dry cleaning!" Annie blurted out in dismay. "Oh no!"

"We can go back." Finnick suggested.

They both looked back down the road toward the town in the distance. It was a good twenty minutes away.

"Too far." Annie decided with a solemn resolve that made Finnick snigger.

He swung his arms around like a windmill, trying to shake-off some of the positive energy that was bursting from his seams. "So what happened then?"

"She stole some of her mother's secret stash of ice cream and we ate it on her bedroom floor while gossiping about boys, just like old times." Annie said wistfully.

"Now _that _I want to see." Finnick declared. "I would have never taken you for a gossip monger. Or a thief, for that matter."

Annie tucked a strand of hair carefully behind her ear. "Apparently you don't know everything about me, Finnick Odair."

"Apparently not." That statement rang true on several levels. He voiced his earlier concern out loud, keeping his tone light. "I think it's because you let me go off on tangents about myself. Next I do that, interrupt me so I don't hog the whole conversation."

"Maybe I'd rather you hog the conversation." She countered, eyes dancing. "Maybe it is part of my plan to discover all your secrets before you uncover mine."

Finnick gaped at her. A slow grin worked onto his face. "Annie, what's your darkest secret?"

"Not telling."

"When was the last time you peed your pants?"

"You're immature. And my mouth is staying shut."

"Favorite color?"

"Nope."

"Aw come on, you won't even tell me your favorite color?" Finnick whined. He brightened suddenly, remembering. "Wait, I already _know _what your favorite color is. You _told _me. It's purple. So much for keeping all of your secrets from me."

Annie folded her arms behind her back. "Well that doesn't count, that was before I made my decision to not tell you anything. Besides, purple isn't my favorite color anymore. I have a new one."

"That's not fair, you can't just change your favorite color like that." Finnick protested. "Not in the past four months it's been since you told me."

"Sure I can. You can change your favorite color whenever you want. There aren't laws against it." She peered at him. "Are you trying to tell me you've never suddenly changed your favorite color?"

"My favorite color," Finnick began grandiosely, "Has always been and will always be blue."

Annie smiled at him. It was a devious smile, one that looked deceptively sweet. "And now I know what your favorite color is and you don't know mine."

Finnick stared at her. She looked away with that strange smile still playing on her lips. The road was elevated so they could see the ocean rolling in the distance. Was it just him or did she look a little longing? She hadn't stepped into the water yet, dancing just out of its reach on their walks since the 71st Games. He watched her smile fall and he could just barely see the waves reflecting near the edges of her eyes. Her nostril expanded slightly and she took a deep breath, possibly inhaling the whiff of salt that had come their way.

She turned back to him and he ducked away sheepishly at being caught staring.

"So what's your new favorite color?"

"Not a chance."

"Come _on_!"

* * *

They spent the rest of the day hanging out in Mags's garden. Finnick recounted his tale of the Brigams to her, though Annie stayed quiet about her visit. Eventually Mags left them to go take a nap – her frequency of naps was increasing at an alarming rate – and they bantered for a little about secret telling before gradually falling into silence. Finnick lay stretched out on the ground with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin. _Burn, baby, burn_, he thought with zeal, imagining the fit his prep team was sure to have when they came to spruce him up before Johanna Mason's Victory Tour. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Ugh. Johanna Mason. Coming to District Four. That was sure to be a fun experience for everybody.

He must have drifted off to sleep because the next time he opened his eyes the sun was starting to descend on the horizon and Annie was hyperventilating. Finnick lunged up to where she was curled on the ground in the fetal position, gasping for air.

"Annie, Annie, Annie." He said, reaching toward her in comfort. "It's not real, Annie. It's not–"

It had been awhile since she was violent toward him during one of her panic attacks. So Finnick wasn't quite prepared enough to dodge or block her fist that came flying toward his face. Unfortunately it landed very directly on his still-healing bruise from Lascius and Finnick's eyes stung from the pain. "Annie, calm down!" He shouted at her, trying to break through her haze of panic. "Look at me, it's not real okay? It's not real!"

His presence seemed to be hurting rather than helping because Annie started to scream that piecing scream that all their neighbors must have come to know and hate at this point. She swung at him and clawed at him, spitting and thrashing like a rabid dog just before it was shot. Eventually he gave up and just pinned her arms down to prevent her from hurting herself, waiting for her to ride it out and calm down.

She never did.

Annie screamed until her voice disappeared and fought against him until Mags came running down with a sedative to knock her out. Then Finnick carried her home and – ignoring Felicia's objections – put her in bed. Looking down at her troubled, pale face he remembered how it had shone with happiness only a few hours before. He tried to figure out what could have possibly set her off and came up short. There was nothing he could think of, which was incredibly frustrating.

Finnick could feel nothing but sadness when he realized that if he was feeling this frustrated, Annie had to be feeling a thousand times worse.

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

They were sitting up on the dunes at the smelly part of the beach near the Sardine Can. Technically the dunes were restricted areas but Peacekeepers only ever bothered to regulate the dunes in the touristy areas. Those dunes were towering, glistening and beautiful. These dunes were worn-down, rugged and contained pollution that told the tales of a thousand different exploits: from beer bottles to used condoms, it was like a shrine created to preserve depravity.

There was no depravity going on at the moment, however. Just Annie sorting through the seashells and Finnick trying desperately not to stare at her like a creeper. She'd told him before not to treat her like she was made of glass and she hated it when people acted like she was afraid to explode. But apparently when he asked her to talk about her feelings that was crossing a line.

Finnick sighed heavily. "Annie, this is never going to get better unless you talk about it with someone."

To his surprise, she snorted. It was not an amused snort. "That's rich."

He waited for her to elaborate but she did not. She continued to sort the seashells calmly and patiently. Finally, he lost _his _patience. "What's rich?"

"You, telling me to talk to someone about my problems. It's practically hilarious." Her voice was completely, twisting her talent for blunt deadpan and turning it cruel.

Finnick forced his frustration down. This was not the time. "Annie, I've told you things _I've never told anyone else before._" He said in absolute disbelief.

"Only because I had to practically drag the words out of your mouth." She threw the shell she was looking at into the 'discard' pile rather forcefully. "And only because it had something to do with me. And _even then_ you waited until after it was critically important that I know, keeping it a secret well after it became a problem for me too." She paused in her sorting to shoot him an angry look. "So no, I wouldn't count that."

He considered her words. Was she angry with him for keeping her in the dark about what the Capitol was capable of? No, she'd forgiven him for that. At her mother's funeral, or the night he told her…no, he couldn't recall them specifically talking about how his deception had made her feel. Hmm.

Finnick stored that away for further discussion later, getting the sense that any conversation they had about that now would lead to lots of yelling. Instead he said, "So if I tell you a secret that doesn't have anything to do with you, that I don't have to tell you, you'll talk to me about how you're feeling?"

Annie's mouth twisted into a scowl that did not look right on her face. "Maybe." She finally conceded.

"Okay." He pondered for a while. Things were still a bit too fresh from the Games to talk about anything specific to do with sex. There was something else that had been bothering him though… "I throw up a lot."

Annie's nose wrinkled. "Charming."

He decided that sarcasm was just going to be part of Annie's current mood and ignored it. "Way more than I should. We talked about it, remember? About how you never got sick when you got nervous and how I must have a weak stomach because I'm always throwing up?"

She nodded slowly in remembrance. Finnick literally saw the thought appear on her face. "You don't make yourself do it, do you?"

"What, like the Capitol? _Hell no_."

"I knew a girl in my class who made herself throw up." Annie explained. "It had nothing to do with greed or wanting to eat more food. It was because she felt like she was too fat. She would eat a lot of food to make herself sick before throwing it all up."

Finnick thought about the starving people he'd seen in District Twelve and the people less than a mile away from them who came home with fish juice dripping from their pores just so they could buy a small sea bass for dinner. "That is one of the most horrific things I have ever heard. How could a District girl waste food like that?" Anger at this unknown classmate of Annie's had distracted him from his original intention of explaining just how deeply fucked up he was to Annie.

She shook her head sadly, some of her earlier anger dissipating and being replaced with compassion. "The thing was, her horrible sense of self-worth was so overwhelming she didn't think about it like that. It took control of her. It didn't even make her lose that much weight. It just made her lose some of her teeth from all the bile she was throwing up, which made her self-esteem even worse." She sighed. "I wonder how she's doing now…"

"Wait, you can lose your teeth if you vomit too much?" Finnick ran his tongue along his rows of teeth. None of them felt loose. "Shit, do I need to be worried about that?" It was a stupid worry; the Capitol would replace them if they did fall out. Then again, Finnick would rather not have something of the Capitol's as a permanent part of him. Never mind the listening equipment they could hide in there, it would just be plain _creepy. _

"I don't know." Annie frowned. "How often does it happen? When does it happen? And why?"

"It's like I said, it happens when I get nervous. Or…stressed is probably the better explanation. Or disgusted, or freaked out. It almost always happens in the Capitol, I can't remember the last time it happened here." He avoided her eyes. "And yes, it has to do with that thing I do there. But also the Games and Mentoring. Like when Hodge died. That was when I realized it was really bad."

"It sounds kind of like a panic attack." He looked up at her in surprise. Annie shrugged. "I've done some reading on it…thought it would help." She gave a sheepish laugh. "It didn't really help me all that much, but I remember a few books listing that as a possible symptom. It usually is present with a few other symptoms. In rare occasions, though, only one symptom might present itself."

"Well I've had panic attacks before." Finnick mused aloud. "As in obvious, 'you don't have to look this up to know what it is' panic attacks. And I guess the feeling is sort of similar…" He trailed off. "What do I do about it?"

Annie sighed. "Well, normally the best immediate treatment for severe panic attacks that cause you physical harm would be medication. But you'd have to get that from the Capitol–"

"If the Capitol ever tried to give me medication I would flush it down the toilet." Finnick replied immediately.

A strangely mischievous expression made its way onto Annie's face. "Where do you think the pills they gave me ended up? I was going to say, I wouldn't trust the Capitol. So you'd have to go with a long-term treatment. Figure out what's causing you to have the panic attacks and address whatever internal conflicts are going on that cause your body go into a state of panic."

"So basically I've got to think really deeply about all my problems and figure out how to make myself okay with it all?" Finnick let out a low whistle. "Well then, that's easy isn't it?"

Annie laughed, abandoning her piles of shells to scoot back beside him. "I'm just a half-trained nurse, not a head doctor, but I think having someone to help you unravel those problems would make it easier. Like untangling a net: if you and someone else work at it from either end it goes twice as fast." She exhaled and seemed to release all the troubles of the world that had been nesting inside of her. "I think I could use some help with that as well."

Finnick nodded. This thing they were both doing, where they found coping mechanisms and skirted around the real issues, it wasn't working for either of them. The idea of opening up completely was terrifying but maybe it would be worth it. He certainly felt a little better having voiced his fears about the vomiting out loud. And even if he was too far gone for any kind of healing, Annie may be able to benefit from having someone to confide in.

"So what deep dark secret do you have to share with me?"

Her eyes were bright but seemed to betray a strange quiver of nervousness behind them. "My favorite color is green."

* * *

A/N: So hopefully that was enough Annie development for all of you. I'm sorry if it was all at once after not all that much. If this were an actual book I was writing (because yikes, it's getting long enough to be one) I would go back and add more Annie development earlier on to even it out. As it is…let's just say it has taken Finnick awhile to stop obsessing over and questioning what his relationship with Annie means (if it's okay, if it's healthy, etc…) and just start going with the flow of it. I wouldn't say that he objectified her, more like idealized her. That will be explored more next chapter. Also, Annie may be super-blunt but she is terrible about talking about her feelings except for when she's panicking and babbling.

The other excuse I have for her sudden surge in character development is that Annie had to do some growing while Finnick was away. We'll see more of that next chapter, just what the 71st Games were like for Annie and what sorts of things it made her realize.

On a non-related note, I believe that this puts this fan fiction over 100k words. I am now part of the 100k club! Woo! (Of course, at least 10k of it is probably author's notes, but still. Yay).


	13. Part Thirteen

A/N: Hey guys, hope you enjoy this one. It is very plot-centric and not vignette-style at all. I think you'll appreciate it though.

Warnings: Aside from some language, pretty much nothing

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Seriously, do any of you think I would have honestly killed Finnick? Really?

* * *

Part Thirteen

* * *

People in the Capitol always liked to ask Finnick when he first learned to swim. Usually they asked this question in bed, their eyes wandering over his body in ways that suggested his swimming abilities had led him to become such a natural lover. He'd push away his first instinct – which was to tell them that he was not a natural lover, he'd just fucked lots of people – and tell them in a low voice that he'd been born in the water.

Obviously this was a lie. Finnick had been born at his first house, the small yet lovely cottage by the fisherman docks, of where he only had pleasant memories. Sometimes he'd wonder if living there had been a dream, because surely life couldn't be all good like that. Had he really spent the first seven years of his life deliriously happy, with parents who danced by the fire during the stormy season, family meals where he and Myron competed to see who could make their father most proud, and trips out on his father's fishing boat – the rest of the crew always turned a blind eye whenever one of their own brought kids on board – where his father would let him stab at the fish in the nets with a wooden trident?

He may not have been born in the water, but he may as well have for Finnick could not remember when he learned to swim. It could not have been at birth, so maybe at two or three? He'd never bothered to ask his mother while she was still alive. There were so many things he wished he could ask her. Had they really been as happy as he remembered, or was that a fairytale? Had his parents ever fought in ways that he didn't know were possible until he moved to the Sardine Can and could hear every argument their neighbors above and below them had? When his father had given him that trident, had he ever dreamed what it would be used for? Except his mother couldn't really answer that last question: only his father could, and he'd been dead long before Finnick could think to ask him anything truly important.

It was these thoughts that were on his mind when he headed down to _Sirena _with Annie. They'd decided it was the best and only place they could talk freely. As Annie was still – despite all their hard work – aquaphobic, it had taken some work for them to get to the point where she was comfortable with them casting off on calm, clear days. It had been more than a little extraordinary to watch the way Annie would work herself up to each little step: stepping off the edge of the dock, bringing both her feet over the hull so she was standing in the boat, staying fifteen minutes before she clambered back onto the dock, etc. If she pushed herself into having a panic attack one day, she was right back out the next day. They created a list of the worst triggers for Annie, which were the water at night (because it had been night when the Arena flooded), tumultuous water (because it reminded her of the flood), and having a lot of strange people around whenever she was attempting to overcome another small fear (Finnick wasn't sure why this was the case, but it was definitely easier for Annie to make progress when nobody else was there).

This was only the third time they'd been out on _Sirena_, so it took Annie a few moments to get comfortable enough to uncurl from her crouched position. She still remained sitting, preferring not to see the water if it was at all possible. Finnick leaned against the gunwale, his arms folded and relaxed. "So." He began.

"So." Annie echoed, her voice breathy from the strain of pushing down her anxieties. He decided that it would be up to him to get the conversation going.

"So I've been thinking about my dad a lot recently." Finnick confessed, running his fingers against the grainy wood. "About things I'd like to know, things that I'd ask him if he were here."

"Like what?" Annie prompted him when he fell uncharacteristically quiet.

_What he would think about what I've become. _"If he and my mom were really as happy as I remember them being." Finnick said instead. That was a can of worms he just wasn't ready to share. "I don't have a lot of memories from then because he died when I was seven. But the ones that I do…they're always laughing or dancing or smiling. When I was a kid, I thought that's just how adults were. I thought that was life: you grow up and you find somebody who makes you happy like that and everything is wonderful. But now that I'm an adult, I look around and see that no one is actually happy like that. Not here, not in the other Districts, not even in the Capitol. So was it real? Or did I just not see the bad stuff because I was a kid?"

It took Annie a few moments to respond, probably because she was still composing herself. "I'd think it would be a combination of both, don't you think? Even people in happy, loving relationships fight sometimes. I was a little older when my dad died – I was ten – so I remember more of my parents' marriage than you did of yours. And I remember them fighting. But I also remember my dad making my mother this beautiful necklace for their anniversary and how she just looked at it and sent us away to my aunt's for the night." Finnick raised his eyebrows and Annie laughed at his expression. "And they'd bicker, but it would be over the silliest things and whenever things started to get out of hand my dad would say, 'Oh Abigail, I think I'm right, but I love you enough to change my mind.'"

"Sounds like a smart man." Finnick snorted. He paused, and asked his next question cautiously. "How did…how did he die? I don't think you've ever told me."

Annie sighed. "A few months before he died, he lost his job. He was a jewelry-maker and he was amazing at it, but they came out with this new factory up in the north, so he just wasn't selling anything any more. The little shop that he worked at had to close down. Nobody was hiring, not even at the jewelry factory, and he tried to find work at the docks but he wasn't the strong kind of guy they were looking for. My mom had a job as a waitress in this tourist diner and she tried to support us as best as she could, but there just…just wasn't enough food for us all. My dad felt like it was his fault so he'd always make sure we all had enough to eat. He ate…_just_ enough so that it looked like he was eating. If one of us noticed or my mom tried to give him some of her food, he'd say that he picked something up in the market or someone shared part of their sandwich while they were both looking for a job at the docks. He started to spend more time away so that none of us would figure it out. My mom thought he was losing weight because he was depressed. By the time my mom dragged him to see his sister – who was a nurse – it was too late. He was dying from scurvy and even though my aunt put him on a diet of oysters and fed him all the Vitamin C she had in her little shop…it wasn't enough. Too little, too late."

Finnick tried to imagine what that must have been like, to watch your own father waste away and not realize anything was wrong until he was at death's doorstop. His heart ached, not only for Annie, but also for the late Mrs. Cresta, Drew and even Felicia. Sometimes he thought he was too hard on Felicia. In her own judgmental way, she was just trying to protect her little sister. After watching both her parents wither away and die, who could blame her from trying to save Annie of that same fate? "I'm so sorry." He said earnestly, voice rumbling low from his gut. Finnick remembered what Mrs. Cresta had said, about how Annie had been the only one of her children to keep sight of herself after Mr. Cresta's death. It was certainly one of her more remarkable qualities. Being honest in her interviews, showing genuine compassion in the Arena, reconnecting with a lost friend after the Games, refusing to let her new fear of water control her life…there was a quiet strength to Annie that most people overlooked because they were too busy fixating on the oddities of her social interactions or her frequency of panic attacks.

"It's okay. I came to terms with it a long time ago." Annie gave him a soft smile. "Anyway, that's what led to me apprenticing with my aunt as a nurse. I decided that I'd never let anyone I loved die ever again just because I couldn't even recognize something was wrong." She snapped her fingers so suddenly it startled Finnick. "Which reminds me, I've got to go visit her and see if she'd be willing to take me on again. It might be an inconvenience for her, but she might appreciate the free help."

And there she went again, deciding to reclaim something the world had tried to take from her. Finnick shook his head. "You're a remarkable person, do you know that?"

The look on Annie's face could probably be most accurately summed up as alarmed. "What?" She stammered out. "Why?"

"Even though you have a thousand people – hell, the whole country probably – telling you you're different, you still see yourself as the same person you were before." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Finnick winced. "No, that came out wrong. Not the whole country, just the stupid people…which I guess would include Felicia then. I'm making a mess of this. The point is, you know who you are and you don't need anyone else to validate it. I think that's remarkable."

Annie did that disconcerting thing where she read between the lines easily and cut straight to the heart of the matter. "I never _had _to pretend to be someone I'm not, Finnick. I'm sure that helps with the whole identity crisis problem."

She was looking at him a little too intently. Finnick looked away, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. "But you could have. You could have easily pretended to be someone else, at your interview, to gain sponsors. But you decided that you were enough."

"To be fair, I had a pretty good sense of self by that time. I was practically an adult." She twisted the ends of her hair nervously. "I'm sure that if I were, say, fourteen years old and still a child things would have been very different. I would have done anything, been anything they told me to be. Besides, it helped that my stylist decided she'd rather I be clothed." Annie said this last part so matter-a-factly that Finnick laughed. It wasn't really funny yet somehow it was easy to distance himself all the way here in Four talking with Annie about their childhoods.

"Yeah, being clothed definitely helps matters quite a bit." Finnick sniggered. "To be fair, Mags tried to stop them. None of it was Mags's fault. She was the best mentor anyone could have."

"I thought you were pretty good." Annie commented vaguely.

Finnick snorted. "You're joking." Annie looked at him with honest eyes. "Are you serious? I was _terrible_. Do you not remember you having to pull my head out of my ass?"

"Yes." Annie looked chagrined. "I still can't believe I yelled at you like that."

"I can. And I yelled at you too, remember? Which is pretty much the _shittiest _thing a mentor can do to their Tribute. And you were the best Tribute I'd ever had too…good thing, otherwise you probably would died on the first day with my lack of mentoring." He tried desperately not to think of Hodge. That was different. There was nothing he could have done.

She cocked her head at him. "Are we remembering the same thing? Because I distinctly recall being scared out of my mind until you came up to me with that plan. Knowing that you were out there trying your best for me was the only thing that kept me from breaking down in there…until I did." She finished flatly and Finnick pushed himself off the gunwale to rest his hand on her shoulder.

"We can talk about something else if you want." He said gently, sensing that she had a panic attack coming on.

Annie took in a couple of deep breaths. "Okay." She bit her lip. "I wish I could talk about it. I _want _to talk about it but every time I let my head go in that space I…" Her breath was shortening again.

"It's okay. I think wanting to talk about it and not being able to is better than not wanting to talk about it at all. It means that you're there emotionally, your brain just hasn't caught up." He rubbed his thumb against her shoulder and waited for her to look up at him. "Now, would you like to hear the story about the time a sea-turtle stole my hat?"

* * *

"_Dad, Dad guess what we learned in school today?"_

_His dad laughed, voice full of sugar and mirth. "What's that?"_

"_The Hunger Games!" He burst out, too excited to pause for any dramatic effect. "We learned about the Games and how District Four is the best, with all the best Victors. And! And! This really _awesome _Victor named Bruce came in and talked to us about the Training program here and how only the best get chosen to do it. And I'm the fastest runner and swimmer, and I already know how to fish with a trident – which _nobody_ else my class can do – so that means I'm the best. And someday when I'm in training like Myron I'll Volunteer and we'll get to live in Victors' Village and maybe Bruce will be our neighbor–"_

_The glass his mom was holding fell to the floor. It shattered everywhere but his mom didn't jump out of the way or move to clean it. She was holding her face in her hands, sobbing. His dad moved to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she shook. _

_He turned and ran away, anger and confusion burning at his heels. Why was she upset? Why had his dad been frowning? Weren't they proud of him? He just wanted to be special like Myron was. He just wanted to be someone people could look up to, like people looked up to his dad. _

_He sulked in his room for what felt like hours before his dad opened the door with his characteristic four-beat knock. "Hey sea biscuit. Can I come in?" He gave a loud sniff and a little nod of acknowledgment. His dad entered the room and settled on the bed. "I know you didn't mean to upset your mom. You were just excited, she's not mad at you."_

"_But why was she upset?"_

_His dad hesitated, as if he were trying to figure out how to explain something he didn't think his son was quite old enough to understand. "Because she doesn't want you to Volunteer. She's afraid of losing you."_

_He rubbed his tearing eyes. "Because she doesn't think I could win. She doesn't think I'm as good as Myron."_

"_She doesn't want Myron to Volunteer either." His dad told him softly. "Myron's only in Training in case the worst happens. And it's not that she doesn't think you could win. The Games are a scary thing. A lot of scary things happen and in order to survive you have to do a lot of bad things. No parent wants to see their child go through that."_

"_Even you?" He questioned. His dad was the bravest, strongest person he knew. He wasn't scared of anything._

"_Especially me." His dad kissed the top of his head and looked down at him with love. "If I had my way, I'd do whatever it could to make sure you never had to go there. But I can't, so I want you and your brother to be as prepared as possible in case they call your name at the Reaping."_

"_People always Volunteer though." He didn't understand why they even had a Reaping, why they didn't just ask who wanted to go. There was always at least one, sometimes more who fought about which one of them spoke first, who would have the honor._

_His dad smiled at him sadly. "Usually, but not always. When I was younger there was about four years where no one Volunteered at all. It was really scary because I didn't know how to defend myself. I promise you that your mother and I will make sure you never have to feel that way. Hopefully you'll never have to use what you learn in Training. In fact – why don't you think about it as a long workout so you can be a better fisherman? All the best fishermen I know went through the Training program."_

"_That's not true!" He protested. "Because _you're _the best fisherman in all of District Four!"_

_His dad laughed. "You're too nice to your old man. Never change, Finnick."_

_Never change never change never change never change… His dad was standing before him, old and weary, clothes dripping wet. His eyes were sad as he took in the man before him. "You're not my son." His voice was heartbroken. "You can't be him. Where's my son? Where's Finnick?" _

"_I'm right here!" He tried to call, but his dad shoved him aside angrily._

"_YOU'RE NOT MY SON! FINNICK! FINNICK!"_

"Finnick!" He shot up from his mattress, hand wrapping around the knife under his pillow. There was a loud pounding downstairs. "Finnick!"

Finnick ran downstairs and flew to the door, half slamming into it as he pulled it open. It took him a few seconds to recognize the grizzled Riley Orestea, Mags's neighbor. He was the second oldest Victor in District Four and was known as a grumpy recluse. Mags held a certain fondness for him even though it didn't seem to be reciprocated. The only conversation Finnick had ever attempted with the man had consisted of Riley responding to Finnick's questions with grunts.

Riley was panting, his weathered body straining with the effort of running just a few houses down. His eyes flicked down to Finnick's right hand where the knife was clenched. Finnick relaxed his grip but didn't put the knife down. "What's going on?" He demanded of the older Victor. It was still pitch-black outside, without even the barest tendrils of morning creeping up into the sky.

"It's Mags." The words seized at Finnick's heart and he frantically tried to figure out if he'd done anything wrong recently. Oh God, maybe Snow had found out he visited the Brigams or worse, heard what he'd said about the Games to them. But surely that wasn't cause enough to…to what? He still didn't know what happened. "I think she's having a stroke. She collapsed in front of my house, I think she was heading to your house–"

That was all Finnick needed to hear to bolt out the door, not caring that he was only clad in his boxer shorts. He raced to the crumpled figure on the road. "Mags! Mags!" Her head was bleeding, probably from where she'd hit the ground. Her eyes were shut and she was not moving. Finnick resisted the urge to shake her, instead diving down to his knees and listening for a breath and heartbeat. Oh god, what if she was dead, what if he'd killed her, what had he done…

She was breathing and there was a heartbeat. He relaxed just slightly and turned to Riley who was hobbling up behind him. "I thought you said she was having a stroke? She's unconscious!"

"She was!" Riley insisted. "She yelled something and it woke me up. I saw her fall from my window right in front of my house. When I ran out to see her, her eyes were open and she was slurring out some nonsense, and her limbs were jerking everywhere. So I ran to get you–"

"Wait, so you haven't called the hospital?" Finnick yelled at him. "What's wrong with you, that's the _first _thing you should do!"

"I didn't know, I wasn't thinking–"

"Go call them now!" He roared, clutching Mags's hand tightly in his own. He wanted to lift her up and move her off the road but he didn't know if she'd hurt her spinal chord when she fell and didn't want to risk it.

Riley bolted back into his house just as some of the other doors were opening.

"What's going on?"

"Oh my – Mags!"

"Is she okay?"

Fighting the urge to scream at all the other Victors like they were a bunch of idiots, Finnick bit his tongue. He knew inside they were just trying to be helpful and they were probably genuinely concerned, but _of course _they would choose now to show up instead of when Mags was lonely and sad inside her empty house. None of them had the right to be here, fussing over her like she was their grandmother. The only one who had any right except for him was Annie.

Annie, who had trained as a nurse for seven years.

"Somebody, get Annie Cresta!" He ordered, in a tone that brokered no argument. There were a few glances and mumbles cast around – "The mad girl? Really?" – but somebody broke off into a run toward her house.

Riley limped back outside, unable to run any longer. "They said they don't have any emergency transport vehicles anymore – budget cuts from the Capitol. We're going to have to get her there on our own."

"What?" Finnick spat. "We can't just carry her there."

"I've got a car in my driveway, but it doesn't run anymore. Gas prices got to be way too expensive." Said Gaia Hatworth unhelpfully.

"We've got a motor-boat." Piped up Jace Urnwurst's wife, whose name Finnick could not remember for the life of him. "We could take her down the coast in that and then walk to the hospital from there."

"That's at least a mile from the shore, there's no way in hell." Riley shook his head.

"Well it can be a last resort."

"The Peacekeepers!" Finnick broke in. "They've got trucks, they can transport her."

"That's not a bad idea." Bruce admitted, somewhat begrudgingly. "I'm actually on pretty good terms with old Romney, let me give him a call."

As he ran off, something brown and pale fell down on the other side of Mags. Finnick looked up to see that it was Annie, her eyes wide and horrified. "Mags," She breathed, touching Mags's wrinkled face.

"I want to move her, but I don't know if I can." Finnick told her helplessly. "I don't want to paralyze her if she hurt her spine."

Annie nodded, letting out a deep breath. "That usually only happens after a traumatic accident or high fall – but given her age, checking isn't a bad idea." She tentatively touched Mags's back, performing a few checks, pulling off her shoes and checking her toes. After a few minutes, she nodded at Finnick. "Okay, you should be fine to roll her on her back. Tilt her head back and make sure her airway is clear. It's important she get as much air as possible."

He did as she instructed just as Bruce came back out. "They said they couldn't use their trucks for this, said that it would be seen as _preferential treatment_." He spat out. "Isn't that the whole bloody point of being a Victor?"

There were a few murmurs of discontent among the gathered group. Suddenly – surprisingly – Felicia spoke up. "Annie, didn't the Brintigers have a car? They live pretty close to here, don't they?"

Everyone turned to Annie, who shrunk back under the strange attention. "Um…" Her eyes darted around frantically before she looked away and turned all her focus on Mags. Annie pressed her hand against Mags's arm and seemed to draw strength from the old woman. "Yes. And um…" She seemed to struggle with figure out what words to spit out. "Have them… pick up Aunt Teresa on their way here. She lives–"

"Yeah, she lives pretty close to them too." Felicia finished for her, turning on her heel to head back to the house.

Cold hands settled over his own and Finnick looked up in surprise. "You're shaking." Annie whispered, rubbing his fingers in her palms. "It'll be okay. She'll be fine. I promise."

"Okay, since that's all sorted out…" Bruce rubbed his face awkwardly. "Do you think you could put on some clothes, Odair? We don't want any of the nurses fainting at the sight of you."

Annie jerked her hands back and flushed, as if she just realized he half-naked. A few of the other Victors chuckled and – maybe it was the stress getting to him – Finnick actually heard himself joining them.

"Yeah, I know I'm literally drop-dead gorgeous." He cheeked wearily, at which Annie rolled her eyes. Some of the Victors snickered and it hit Finnick with a jolt that maybe they were laughing _with _him, not at him. Maybe they weren't gathered out here to be busybodies, maybe they actually cared about Mags. Maybe they were just as damaged and antisocial as he was, maybe they were too afraid to be close to the old woman who carried her hatred for the Capitol on her sleeve.

They were flawed, but they were all Victors. Much as he'd tried to deny it for so many years, they were his people.

* * *

Mags's prognosis was bleak. She had suffered an Ishmetic stroke and the fact that she'd lost consciousness was particularly worrying to the doctors. At the moment, they were concerned that she was never going to wake up. If she did wake up, she could be paralyzed on one or both sides of her body, have trouble moving even if she wasn't paralyzed, and was almost certain to have speech difficulties.

The hospital was woefully understaffed when their little group came barreling in (consisting of their driver, whose name Finnick had not caught, Annie's Aunt Teresa, Riley, Annie, and Finnick carrying Mags). Teresa had to scream bloody murder for someone to come to their aid, commanding attention in a way Finnick had only ever seen Felicia do. Considering that she was Annie's teacher he'd been expecting a mild-mannered, compassionate and sweet woman. But Teresa had been tough as nails from the moment she jumped out of the truck and demanded that Finnick get the hell out of her way so she could see the patient. She was as fierce as any warrior Finnick had ever met.

Right now she was watching Finnick like a shark from her position across Mags's bed, leaning against the wall. Both Finnick and Annie were sitting on the floor, having let Riley take the chair. At some point Annie had drifted off and was now sleeping against his shoulder. He knew it must look bad to Teresa but didn't have the energy or the motivation to tell he it wasn't what she thought it was. What was he supposed to do, wake her up? Push her off? No. He was just being a good friend. And okay, maybe the feeling of her hair against his neck was soothing after the night he'd just had, but that had nothing to do with his reasons for letting her sleep there.

Finnick resisted the urge to look at Annie's contented face. If he'd ever had any doubts about how strong she truly was, they were erased after today. He knew that the other Victors made her nervous, possibly because they reminded her of the other Tributes in her Games with their fierce personalities. Yet she'd kept herself together in order to help Mags. And when they'd come into the hospital, the place where her mother had died, she'd been fighting off a panic attack at every corner.

He certainly couldn't blame her for being exhausted. Personally, Finnick couldn't imagine falling asleep any time soon. He was too triggered. Besides, he wanted to be there when Mags woke up. She was going to wake up.

Riley snorted himself awake. He released a groan and stretched out his legs before looking around the room. As he rose from his chair, he gave Annie what had to be the closest to a sympathetic expression he could muster. "Here, let her have my chair." He hobbled toward the door. "I'm going to go see if I can't find that young lad who drove us here and get him to give me a lift home."

"I'll come with you." Teresa said, eyeing the way his old limbs trembled with exhaustion. Once they were out the door Finnick lifted Annie up carefully, trying not to wake her. His efforts were in vain because her eyes fluttered open.

"Finn? What are–" She reddened. "Why are you carrying me?"

"Sorry, I wanted to put you in the chair without waking you." He settled her into the chair gently. In spite of their sterile surroundings she looked remarkably cozy in her nightgown, robe and slippers.

Annie smiled drowsily. "Well, you woke me up anyway."

"It was unintentional, I promise you." He gave the top of her head an odd half-pet, half-stroke. "You were amazing today, you know that?"

She was a little too tired to snort, so the noise that came out of her nose was nothing more than a loud exhale. "Are you talking about when I couldn't even speak a full sentence in front of the other Victors or when I nearly threw up back in the waiting room?"

"You held yourself better than me. I was just yelling at people. You were actually useful." When she started to protest, Finnick pressed a finger over her mouth. "No arguments. Just accept the compliment."

Her eyes edged shut. "Fine…just this once."

"Just this once," He repeated, amused. Without warning, he was struck by the sudden necessity to pee. Or maybe he'd just been ignoring it in his panicked state. "I've got to go the bathroom and pee. I'll be back in a second, okay?"

"Okay," Annie replied, her eyes still closed. A little smile was on her face. "I'm glad that you added you needed to pee. I was wondering what you could possibly need the bathroom for…thanks for clearing that up."

"Well, if I was going to take a dump it wouldn't be a second, would it?" Finnick laughed. "So yeah, I'd say adding the 'pee' at the end there was totally necessary. That way you know how long to expect."

Annie released a long-suffering sigh. "Finnick…"

"Yes?"

"Just go to the damn bathroom already."

He sniggered and headed to the bathroom attached to the little suite Mags was situated in. After he did his business and was just preparing to wash his hands, the sound of the suite door opening in the next room caused him to freeze.

"Annie?" It took Finnick a few moments to place the voice as their driver. "Annie?" The guy persisted, a little louder.

Finnick was just about to exit the bathroom and tell him to leave her alone, as she had obviously fallen asleep again, when Annie replied. "Percy…hi."

There was awkward silence for a few moments. Then the driver – Percy – spoke again. "Your aunt and that old guy wanted a ride back. Did you want me to drive you home?"

"No thank you." Annie's voice sounded unsure, the way it did when she spoke to people who made her uncomfortable. "I want to stay until Mags wakes up."

"Oh, okay." More silence. "Um, just give me a call whenever you're ready to go home. You shouldn't have to walk home like that."

"Thank you." Annie said again, sounding more than a little surprised at the offer. "You don't have to do that…you've done more than enough."

"No, I want to." Percy was eager. Finnick's eyes narrowed. He was too eager. "I was so glad when you called, Annie. I mean, I would have preferred better circumstances obviously. But I've been waiting over a year for a chance to see you again. You amaze me, Annie."

"What?" Annie blurted out, startled. "Why?"

Clearly Percy hadn't been expecting to be questioned, for he fumbled his next words a bit. "You're just…I mean, I've always like you, obviously, even if I made a mess of it before. But then I saw you in the Games and you were like this ethereal creature." Finnick pressed himself closer to the door. It was just because this Percy guy was being a dumbass and bringing up Annie's Games, so he was making sure she wasn't having a panic attack. Not because he was trying to hear better. "I realized then that you were beautiful, and kind and fragile and all I wanted was to be there with you, to protect you. I wanted to hold you in my arms and keep you safe."

"Um, that's really sweet of you…"

"Look, I know that probably came off a little creepy." Percy cut in quickly. _No shit_, Finnick thought, shaking his head. "And I've had a whole year to come to terms with these feelings for you, so it wouldn't be fair to just expect something right away. So how about we spend some time together? My cousin Russel – you remember Russel, right? – is getting married next Saturday. It's a small ceremony, just family and friends. Mostly people you know, I know Hailey said you don't do well around strangers. It would be a chance for you to see that I'm completely serious about you. You're like this otherworldly sea nymph, a goddess of the ocean, saved by the sea herself."

_Oh dear Lord. _Finnick really hoped she wasn't falling for any of that shit. He'd heard some lines in his time and that, _that_ was a line. Annie was quiet for a long time. Finally she replied awkwardly, "I suppose that could be nice."

_What? No! There was no way that could be nice! _That stupid bastard Percy sounded smug as he replied, "Excellent! I'll let Russel know you're coming. And don't worry, it's an on-land ceremony. Hailey mentioned you were aquaphobic." It sounded like Hailey needed to learn to keep her mouth shut. Annie let out a sharp gasp. Only fear of embarrassing Annie if it was a misunderstanding stopped Finnick from bursting through the door at that moment. "You're so beautiful, Annie. I swear I'm going to show you how I see you."

What a sleaze ball. Finnick's fists curled into fists. What kind of creep hit on a girl with slow self-esteem, had a fragile mind and was obviously having a very difficult day? He knew how these situations played out and had no doubt Percy would try to take advantage of Annie at that wedding. It was just rather unfortunate for Percy that Finnick happened to have overheard their conversation. There was no way in hell he was going to let Annie go through what he did.

The door clicked shut and Finnick took a few calming breaths before he washed his hands. It would be no use to storm in there and order Annie not to go. She would just be irritated with him.

Annie was twisting in her chair as he exited the bathroom, her face bright red. "Erm…"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop." He told her earnestly. "Well, I did at first since I wanted to make sure I had the element of surprise if he was a threat. And then it just became awkward."

"Yeah…" Annie ducked her face. "You heard it all, then?"

"I did." Finnick took a breath. "So, Percy huh?"

She nodded. "Mhm. I dated him for just a few weeks, a couple years ago. I thought it was just a mutual lost of interest. I never would have thought…" There was a thoughtful expression on her face.

Finnick decided he would need to tread carefully in order not to offend her. "Well, just remember people act differently around you once you're a Victor." He said in his very best 'mentor' voice. "People who wouldn't normally give me the time of day suddenly wanted to be my best friend when I first became a Victor."

"Do you think Percy just wants fame or novelty of it?" Annie questioned.

_No, I think he just wants to get into your pants. _"I think," He said instead, "That thinking someone is like a sea nymph is a very stupid reason to like somebody."

"Well, what other reason would someone have to like me?" It wasn't a leading question. Annie sounded like she honestly had no idea.

Finnick shrugged. "A million other reasons but that. They should like you for your humor. How it is just part of the way you speak and it's normally so subtle hardly anyone notices it. And how you'll carefully figure out what you want to say ahead of time so that everything you say is exactly what needs to be said. And how you're not afraid to talk about the things that make other people uncomfortable. And yeah, you're sweet and compassionate but you're also stubborn as hell, which means that you won't just let yourself be pushed around. And when you eat you do it in the most ridiculously methodical way, like you're calculating exactly how many calories you're going to need to get through the day and you eat just slowly enough so you never get indigestion but won't be the last one eating." He realized this was starting to sound a little too observant, so he backtracked. "As your friend, those are the things I like about you. Those are the things that make you _you_, you know?"

There was a trace of bitterness to Annie's smile. "I suppose that's true. Still, I think I'll go to the wedding. It might be nice to see some more of my old friends."

"Are you sure?" Finnick pressed, trying not to sound too insistent. "It might be too much for you, what if you have a panic attack?"

"I'm going." Annie said stubbornly. "I won't let fear hold me back anymore. I'm done babying myself and I'd like you to stop babying me as well."

There was a big difference between babying and protecting. Finnick could tell her that he just didn't trust Percy but if they had a history she'd probably just brush it off. There was no convincing her not to go.

Fine. He'd just have to figure out a way into the wedding himself. After all, he was _the _Finnick Odair.

* * *

A/N: I would like to take this moment to remind everybody that we have the case of an unreliable narrator. Not everything is what it appears on the surface. If Annie seems way too virginal or innocent here…just trust me, okay? I've got a pay off coming and I think you'll all be surprised (hopefully pleasantly) by the result.

Also, I changed the picture. I loved that picture of Finnick and Mags, but it was more appropriate when this was a story about Finnick and Mags. Now its Finnick's story (and Finnick at the end of Catching Fire is the real Finnick as I picture him in this story).

I went back and corrected a few inconsistencies with the ages (like when Annie started training as a nurse, and when Finnick's dad died). Also, while I liked the idea of scholarship kids, I realized Trisha couldn't be one because I already stated she was a politician's daughter. So that had to go, but hopefully I'll bring it up again.

Thank you guys for all your informative reviews! I truly appreciate them!


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